Old Card, New Twist
by Forestwytch
Summary: An old cold case heats up, and Dave is caught in the middle. A beautiful woman and a serial killer turn things on their head for the BAU. How far will he go to protect her? Rossi/OC


_A/N: This rattled around in my brain so long I had to write it down. I own nothing you recognise, otherwise I'd be a lot richer._

 _ **One is never too old to yearn – Italian proverb.**_

BAU Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner watched his colleague's face twist in confusion. Rossi was on the phone, his eyes distant and his responses slowed as he tried to understand what was going on. He didn't blame him, it had been a long week. The team had only just returned from a gruelling four days in Nevada and they were all exhausted. It was barely midday but already Hotch could feel the impending headache from not enough sleep, bad precinct coffee and jet lag catching up with him. Giving up any pretence of ignoring his friend's expression, he ducked into Rossi's doorway when he heard the receiver being put down.

"Dave? Everything OK?"

Rossi was silent long enough for Hotch to prompt him again.

"Dave?"

"Yeah," Rossi replied slowly. "Some girl brought in the ER apparently asked for me."

"Do you know her?"

"I have no idea. She turned up with no ID except one of Gideon's old cards."

Hotch's look of confusion mirrored Rossi's for a moment. "Go, we can manage here, find out who she is."

"Thanks Hotch." Rossi nodded and slung his jacket over his shoulder. "Never a dull moment, am I right?" His smile felt forced, but it was worth it to see the fleeting quirk of the lips that did Hotch for a smile. It eased Rossi's concern a little. Aaron smiled too infrequently these days.

* * *

The hospital smelled as all hospitals do – antiseptic with a hint of bodily fluids and minor side-order of death and despair. Rossi waited patiently at the nurse's station trying not to breathe too deeply. Around him, doctors and paramedics bustled past, entirely engrossed in their jobs, barely sparing him a glance as they navigated around him.

"Agent Rossi?" A tired-looking brunette nurse appeared at his elbow with a chart in her hands. "This way." She led the way down the corridor without waiting to see if he was following. "Jane Doe was apparently the victim of a mugging, she came in with no ID, no purse, no watch. Just this:" The nurse handed him an incredibly battered FBI business card. "She refused to give her name or see the detective from Metro when he came for her statement, he also left his card," she added, handing him a crisp new card, its condition highlighting just how old and crumpled Gideon's was. The nurse sighed, compassion breaking through the professional demeanour for a moment. "I think the mugging is probably the least of her concerns." She stopped in front of a private room. "Let me just make sure she's awake and ready to talk to you."

Rossi reached out and grasped the nurse's arm just before she turned the handle.

"What do you mean the mugging is the least of her problems?"

The nurse, Linda according to the name badge on her chest, looked him up and down. "I think you'd better ask her, but I think today's incident is far less severe than whatever she's been through already." She opened the door a fraction and slipped into the room before Rossi could formulate a reply.

Linda reappeared moments later, nodded to him and left, already intent on her next task. Rossi took a moment to read the note on the back of Gideon's card once more and entered the room quietly.

Huddled on the hospital bed was a vulnerable-looking young woman, Rossi guessed she was in her early twenties or so. Her hair, the bits of it not coated in blood from a nasty-looking head wound was a muddy sort of dark blonde. The rest of her was muddy too, presumably another indication of the mugging. The rising black eye did nothing to conceal the deep circles under her eyes. After a long case in Nevada, Rossi's own eyes had a matching pair, but he had an idea her broken sleep had been for longer than a week. His cursory glance stopped when his eyes reached her arms, crossed defensively across her chest. Scars littered them both, crossing over each over, merging into each other. It was like she'd been through a cheese grater. Several times.

He sat down quietly next to the bed in one of the two ubiquitous hard plastic hospital seats.

"Hi, I'm Agent Rossi with the FBI. Can you tell me your name?" he asked gently.

Suspicious eyes peered at him through the bruising. "Why?" The steel in her voice surprised him.

"Well, because you arrived in the ER with no ID and yet you had this," he said, holding up Gideon's card, hoping for a reaction. He got one.

"That's MINE! Give it back, I need it!" She didn't reach for it, but Rossi leaned back in the hateful seat as though she had.

"Not until you tell me why you have the personal number of the former head of the Behavioural Analysis Unit of the FBI."

"Former?" she seemed less certain in her indignation now. Rossi spotted his opening and dived straight in, heedless of the consequences.

"Agent Gideon retired from the Bureau a long time ago, I came back from retirement when he left. He died more than a year ago." Hidden from her view, Rossi clenched his other hand tightly to prevent his emotions displaying on his face. The curse of his hot-blooded Italian heritage was the ferocity of emotions, and he didn't want to spook her. Even so, he wasn't prepared for her reaction. "

The woman hunched over in the bed, curling into a ball as much as she could and started to cry.

Momentarily nonplussed, Rossi reached out to give her shoulder a friendly rub, a gesture of solidarity against the grief they obviously shared. She recoiled violently and shuffled as far away from him as she could get while still being on the bed. Her sobs stopped, but her breathing was harsh and the tears still spilled from her eyes unchecked.

Rossi, still frozen with his hand hovering stupidly in mid-air, lowered it and sat back once more in the uncomfortable plastic chair.

"Did you know Agent Gideon well?" he asked gently, trying to work out how this young woman could possibly have known Gideon.

She shrugged. "Jason. I met Jason once. Long time ago. He saw…he knew…" she trailed off into nothing and scrubbed an arm over her eyes, smearing the mud and blood across her cheeks.

Rossi turned over the card still in his hand and read aloud the message on the back, scrawled in Gideon's distinctive and nigh on illegible handwriting.

"Whenever, whatever, wherever you need, call me."

"Or my friend Dave," whispered the nameless young woman.

Rossi looked up, fixing her with his dark gaze. " _What_ did you say?" he asked softly, not quite believing his ears. Had Jason really given this woman _his_ name at some unknown point in the past?

"He didn't write that bit down. "Whenever, whatever, wherever you need, call me...or my friend Dave." That's what he said to me. That I should call him if…if I needed. And now, now I'm too late. Years too late." Her face crumpled once more, the tears washing clean streaks on her dirty face.

Rossi released a breath he hadn't known he was holding. He reached into his jacket for his FBI credentials.

"As I said, my name is Agent Rossi. Agent David Rossi. I worked with Agent Gideon, with Jason, for many years."

The gaze she fixed him with was painful in its intensity. Raw, naked hope flared in her eyes, searing his soul. Rossi realised at that moment just how desperate she'd been, to finally use the lifeline Gideon had given her all those years before.

"You…you're his friend? The one he…you're Dave?" she asked hopefully. She took his creds from his outstretched hand warily, as if he would reach forward and grab her wrist as she did so. She ran a gentle finger down the gold-coloured badge and looked carefully at the picture, now a few years old and with a few less greys than he had now. "You are." This now with certainty. Her shoulders straightened, and she lost some of the vulnerability in her face. It came as a shock to realise that look hadn't been genuine, her standard expression was far more calculating. She handed his creds back to him and fixed him with an unnerving look he couldn't immediately interpret, yet felt deeply.

"I am," he agreed genially, returning his credentials to their place in his jacket. "And you are?" he asked, proffering Gideon's beaten up business card.

She took it from his hand, less wary than before. The card was brought to her chest, almost as if she were trying to hug it. "Carla. Carla Franks."

"OK, now we're getting somewhere. The hospital wouldn't release you without a name, so now we can get you home." She swallowed heavily. "Or not. You're new to the city, not settled anywhere yet."

She studied at him. "You're just like him. Jason thought he me figured out in five seconds too," she added ruefully.

Rossi kept his mouth shut. The hospital would have checked Missing Persons when she came in, and her accent gave her away. Not a Virginia native by any stretch. The almost-grimace when he mentioned "home" meant she probably didn't have anywhere she considered home. Simple deductions for a profiler. But that wasn't the whole story. What she'd said told him he hadn't got it _quite_ right.

"Start at the beginning Carla. How did you meet Gideon, and end up here with his business card as your only possession?"

"I was a kid, he came to my house one day," she answered, her eyes far away as if seeing the day Gideon came to call. "I was playing on the lawn as he was leaving and he stopped to speak to me. I remember I couldn't play outside after that for a long time. Before he left, he gave me his card and said I could call him. Last night I went out to use a pay phone but ended up here instead."

It was the shortest life story Rossi had ever heard, and it was obvious she'd missed out most of what he wanted to know. Including where and when she had met Gideon.

"You got mugged on your way to the phone?" he asked gently.

She nodded. "Gang of thugs after what was in my pockets. I had nothing except this," she held up the battered business card briefly, "and they didn't like that. I held my own for a while but…" She shrugged. "There was four of them. I've had worse." Dave opened his mouth to respond and thought better of it. They sat in silence for a moment.

"Dave? I mean, Agent Rossi?" The question was quiet and tentative, the vulnerable look back on her face.

"Dave is fine," he replied with a smile, trying to put her at ease.

"Dave, how did Jason die? Did…did you catch them?"

Now it was Rossi's turn to be surprised. "He was shot. But how did you…?"

She shrugged as if it were nothing. "When you first mentioned him, you clenched your hand. I could see your blood pressure rise as you did it. You tensed and it raised your heart rate a little." She stroked her throat, fingers lingering over her carotid. "I notice things like that."

Rossi reflexively glanced down at her arms. "Yes, I imagine you do." She dropped her arms and drew up the covers to hide them, showing him that she'd caught his split-second look at the scars. It had been enough to see that even someone incredibly flexible would have a hard time harming themselves in such a way to leave that pattern of marks. Someone had done this _to_ her, judging by the old restraint marks on her wrists.

"We got him though," he added belatedly, to draw her attention away from his conclusions. She nodded as if she expected nothing less and that implicit trust made him blurt the whole truth. "I killed him. He was cornered and I goaded him into drawing his weapon so I could shoot him."

"Good." Her tone was one of finality, that she agreed wholeheartedly with what he'd done. Even Hotch hadn't been quite that sure. He'd filed the Justified Shooting report without complaint, but the shocked look on his face when he saw the scene had said it all. Had it been vengeance or justice? Rossi didn't know, but hadn't lost any sleep over it.

"Carla, are you running from something? Or someone?" She stilled, and Rossi continued inexorably, now sure he was on the right track. "Is that why you were going to phone Gideon, you need help?"

She gave him a brief, stuttered nod and the tears returned, but Rossi could see the difference. This wasn't grief but relief. He stood and perched himself on the edge of the bed. "I'm not Gideon, I don't know what's going on, but whatever you need kiddo." This time when he extended an arm to comfort her, she allowed it. Slowly but surely he wrapped his arms around her, cradling her to his chest, feeling his shirt rapidly dampening with her tears. "Whatever you need."

The nurse, Linda, came back around to check on her patient about twenty minutes later, and for a moment looked shocked to see Rossi half-draped across the bed with the young woman in his arms.

"I need to dress the head wound, did you find out her name?" she asked briskly, professionalism quickly overtaking disapproval.

Rossi nodded "Carla Franks." He gently disentangled himself from Carla's embrace. "Nurse is here to look at that bump on your head, want me to leave?" he asked, already thinking of how long he'd been sat with her, how long he'd been away from the office. He owed Hotch a phone call, if nothing else. But Carla gripped his arm, preventing him from leaving. "Ok no problem, I'll stay," he added, glancing at Linda for confirmation that his presence was not going to be an issue.

Linda nodded briefly indicating it was neither here or there to her, and set about cleaning and dressing the wound. It wasn't deep and she was finished in no time. "She has a mild concussion and needs observation for twenty four hours, either supervised at home or here," she said, looking down at the chart in front of her.

Rossi didn't need telling which option Carla would prefer and made an impulsive decision.

"She'll stay with me," Rossi replied, already thinking ahead. After the week they'd had, Hotch would have no problem letting him take some time off, especially once he explained the circumstances.

"Fine. I'll bring the release papers back with me in a moment." Linda left as quickly and efficiently as she had arrived, no doubt relieved to have discharged one patient of the many under her care.

* * *

It was a little more complicated than anticipated to get Carla discharged. She had no clothes for a start, the ripped and muddied remains of hers were now in a bag held by Rossi, pending collection by Metro for evidence in her mugging. Carla was now dressed in a set of hospital scrubs, unfortunately several sizes too large. She'd had to roll up the bottoms several times so she didn't trip. Her trainers had survived the mugging but for completeness, Rossi had bagged them too. Carla left the hospital in a pair of flip flops from the donations bin, not ideal footwear when the temperature had barely hit the low forties outside. Rossi hustled her into his car as fast as practical and wound up the heating as soon as he closed the door.

"Where were you staying?" He didn't make the mistake of calling wherever she was living "home".

"Cheap motel on Sunrise."

"The Alpine?" asked Rossi, disbelieving. The Alpine was a hot spot for hookers and drug dealers. The BAU had consulted on, and then been involved in a serial murder case centred on the place.

Carla shrugged noncommittally, a gesture Rossi was starting to truly detest. "They take cash and don't ask questions," she muttered.

There was no reply to that, so Rossi filled up the silence by turning on the radio, knowing that the lack of pressure to answer the hundreds of questions filling his mind would help her relax. The subtle easing of tension in her body, more felt than seen as he kept his eyes on the road, proved him right.

She insisted on gathering her things herself, ashamed of the squalid room she'd been living in. Rossi stayed in the car and watched as she walked across the parking lot. There was something familiar about the way she walked, the way she carried herself, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Her shoulders rolled as she moved, like a big cat on the African plains.

A tall dark-haired man angled across the parking lot towards her as she approached her room. Carla sped up, but he still caught up with her before she could open the door. Rossi was out of the car and moving towards them before he realised what he was doing, the rational side of his brain wondering at the fierce protectiveness that had risen up in him.

Carla was backed up against her door, the guy leaning over her, making the most of the height advantage he had. As Rossi approached, he could hear the conversation.

"You wanna stay here princess, you gotta pay."

"I pay rent already, I'm not paying you again," spat Carla, forcefully brushing off the hand that he'd put on her arm.

"All you girls are the same, you wanna do business here, you pay. One way or…" His hand shot out and grabbed her hair and pulled her closer. "Another," he finished, pressing his nose into her hair and sniffing lecherously.

"Hey!" Rossi attracted the man's attention, and as he turned, felled him with a smooth blow to the jaw. "Leave her alone." Rossi turned back to Carla, dismissing the man as no further threat.

The creep scuttled backwards on his heels and regained his feet. "I'll be back later princess, when you're done with your John," he said threatened as he walked away.

"Get lost, asshole!" yelled Carla.

"Has he gone?" asked Rossi.

Carla peered over his shoulder until the man was out of sight. "Yeah."

"You ok?" he asked, flexing and shaking his stinging hand. "Ow."

She snorted. "That's why I tend to aim lower," she said, with a significant glance at his crotch. "Doesn't hurt as much afterwards." She grinned evilly. "Except for them."

Rossi took a step backwards. "Duly noted," he said drily.

Carla chuckled again. "I've avoided him for weeks, but…" She shrugged, indicating the inevitability of it all. "Thanks. You hit him before I could."

It took mere minutes to gather her things from the shoddy room she'd paid for. Mainly because she'd never really unpacked. A large backpack and an oversized sports bag constituted her entire worldly belongings, and they were quickly on the road again, Carla now dressed in her own clothes once more. Darkness started to fall as he drove, turning the grey fall day into a dark fall night.

"Ask," she said several miles later, knowing he had questions. Of course he did. They crowded his face and voice.

Rossi looked over at her in the passenger seat before returning his eyes to the road. "Where do I begin?" he mused. "Where are you from?"

It wasn't the first thing he wanted to ask, but it would help him work out where to go next. How to get to the questions he really wanted to ask. Like who she was running from, what had happened to her. How Gideon had come to give her his card with a handwritten note on the back.

"Nowhere." She shrugged. "Everywhere."

"Moved around some, huh?" Rossi smiled. "Yeah I know that feeling." She nodded but didn't reply. "What were you going to ask Gideon?"

"I needed his help."

Rossi sighed. Twenty questions wasn't what he'd had in mind. "What with? I can't help unless I know."

"It's complicated."

"No kidding. Try me," he insisted. "It can't be any stranger than some of the things I heard this week already."

The smile was fleeting, but genuine and much like Hotch's almost-smile earlier, its presence was reassuring.

"I doubt it. What happened this week? I'd like to know what I'm competing with."

Rossi chuckled and launched into the stranger parts of the case in Nevada. It wasn't until they drew up in his driveway that he realised just how skilfully she'd deflected him. Him, a seasoned profiler and FBI Agent with decades of experience. Obviously, he was more tired than he thought.

Carla gave him an incredulous look as she climbed from the car.

" _This_ is your house?" She asked, looking up at the frontage of the Rossi mansion.

"Yep, every square foot." Rossi glanced at his watch to hide the faint flush on his cheeks as he unlocked the door. "You got an hour to get cleaned up and then dinner will be on the table. Pasta ok with you?" he asked as he ushered her through the front door. That would give him time to cook and phone Hotch.

Carla shot him a grin. "Is your bathroom as amazing as the rest of your house?" she asked looking around the expansive hallway.

Rossi opened his mouth to reply then shut it, a smile starting to form. He'd seen inside the room she'd rented at the Alpine, albeit briefly. Small, dingy, and not very clean. The shower had been broken and the grout round the bath black with mould.

"Better," he said, the smile breaking into a grin at her obvious delight.

He showed her to one of the guest rooms and padded back down the stairs. Mudgie waddled towards him arthritically and nudged him for an ear rub. He obliged, waiting with phone in hand until he heard the water start to run.

Hotch answered the phone on the first ring.

"Dave? Everything ok? I expected to hear from you before now."

The concern in the unit chief's voice made Rossi feel a little guilty for not calling earlier. "Strange, but everything's fine. She's in the shower."

"At your house? Dave, what's going on?"

Rossi could imagine the look on Hotch's face and let out a half-formed chuckle. "As soon as I find out, I'll let you know."

"That bad huh?" Rossi could hear the smile in Hotch's voice. "Good luck with that."

"She needs help and Gideon offered. I'm honouring that promise." Rossi sighed. "Beyond that, I'm not sure yet. Is Garcia still there? I think I need some background before I get in too deep here."

"Yes, hold on. Take a few days if you need to Dave, I don't need to see you in the office this side of the weekend if that's what it takes."

"Thanks Aaron."

Rossi grinned as he heard Garcia's cheery greeting to Hotch and then she was on the line.

"My Italian Stallion, what can the Oracle of All Knowing do for you today?"

Rossi smiled. "I've got a mystery that only you can solve, my dear."

"Give it to me."

"I need everything you can find on a Carla Franks, no date of birth but I think she's in her twenties. Blonde, about 5'4", hazel eyes. Broken home of some sort, probably some odd hospital visits or social services involvement. Oh, and Garcia? She crossed paths with Gideon as a child, are his case notes from 15-20 years ago digitised? She'll be in there somewhere."

"Is this something to do with the girl in the hospital? Sorry, it's a small team and the rumours are flying already."

"Yeah, I need to know what I'm dealing with."

"I will seek and I will find and I will hit you back when I have."

"Thanks Garcia," he said, but Rossi was talking to thin air, Garcia was already gone, fingers flying across her many keyboards.

Rossi fed Mudgie and let him out into his garden run. There was a heated outdoor kennel out there, in a large enclosed space that would keep his old dog comfy while he talked with his new house-guest.

* * *

Carla materialised in the kitchen as soon as he started to cook, drawn by the smell of the early stages of his famous spaghetti carbonara. Rossi glanced at her and revised his age estimate sharply upwards. She was nearer thirty than twenty, the mud and initial look of vulnerability having made her seem much younger. Now clean, and dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt with her honey blonde hair tied back in a careless tail, it was clear she was older. Not to mention beautiful. He briefly wondered if he ought to let Garcia know she might have to dig further back than he'd initially indicated. The idea was dismissed as quickly as it arrived; if Garcia didn't find anything in the time period he'd mentioned, she'd expand her search without needing to be asked.

Rossi's examination of her features continued despite his efforts to concentrate on cooking. There was a fist-shaped bruise rising on one side of her face, to go with the cut above her eye. A multitude of minor scratches on her hands spoke of her abrupt meeting with the asphalt. Somehow, the battle wounds only made her more stunning, the determined air of a warrior he'd sensed earlier about her accentuated by the bruises. That image was only furthered when she bent over the counter to watch him cook. As her shirt tightened against her body, it highlighted the shape of a hunting knife in a vertical holster hidden against the small of her back.

Even though she'd trusted him, she wasn't about to let her guard down enough to go unarmed, and that said something about her character. That someone would have to think that way was troubling and for the first time, Rossi wondered what this strange beautiful woman was going to get him involved in.

Dinner was a quiet affair, Carla focussed on her meal in a way that suggested it had been a while since she'd eaten proper homecooked food. Rossi led her into the living room when they'd finished, letting her pick a seat and deliberately sitting in the armchair next to her when she parked herself in the corner of his sofa. They sat in silence, neither willing to be the first to speak, neither knowing where to start.

"Lloyd will be furious that you hit him," she said eventually, apropos to nothing.

"The idiot at the motel?" She nodded and Rossi smiled. "So what? You're not going back there."

Her eyes widened. She obviously hadn't considered that he'd let her stay more than the one night the hospital had recommended. For some reason that hurt, that she'd think so little of him.

"You think I'd let you go back there after seeing what I saw?" Rossi leaned back in his seat, deliberately trying to project a calm, unthreatening manner. "You asked for help, I'm helping." He spread his hands, gesturing to the ample size of his house. "I've got plenty of room and you need somewhere to stay. Problem solved."

"But you have no idea who I am!" she exclaimed.

Rossi leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "And you have no idea who I am." He grinned mischievously at her. "Except we both know that's not true, don't we?"

Rossi sat back and considered her. "I know you come from a broken home, either your parents divorced or one of them died. The one you were left with used to cut you, and probably more," he said slowly. "I know you move around, avoid staying in one place for too long, so you're probably keeping ahead of someone. It's a habit you picked up in childhood and have kept up. But you're tired of running, so you moved to Virginia, close to Quantico, close to where you thought Gideon was. And you finally reached out."

He paused to let his words make their impact and, as he'd anticipated, Carla retaliated.

"Italian by blood, New York by birth," she said, eyes narrowed. Rossi smiled. She'd taken his challenge. "You haven't been back to Italy for a long time, you feel smothered by all the relatives there. You've been part of the FBI for long enough that you're not comfortable in huge crowds, especially if you don't know everyone there." She sat back, waiting for Rossi's next salvo.

"You're fiercely independent, used to having nobody to rely on but yourself," he said. "That's given you some trust issues and probably a good dose of paranoia. You've already calculated the quickest exit from this room and the fastest path to the front door. You've examined the room for potential weapons and if you had to pick, you'd use the abstract sculpture on the mantle above the fire." Rossi nodded towards it. "Feel free, I've always hated it, but I don't want to offend my sister by not having out on display if she drops by unexpectedly." Carla didn't even glance at it, confirming for him that she'd already noted its position in relation to where she sat.

"But you wouldn't start there, you'd go for the knife at your back first." Rossi smirked at the startled look on her face at that. She hadn't realised he'd seen it. "From your choice of blade, I'd say you've had some woodscraft training or experience. What I really want to know is why you didn't have it with you earlier."

She shrugged. "Forgot."

"I doubt it," he retorted. "I think you were expecting to speak to Gideon, that you expected to be brought to the BAU, and didn't want to have to answer questions when it was inevitably found by security."

"So why ask if you know already?" she asked sullenly.

"Because I wanted to see if you'd tell me. You didn't, so you obviously don't entirely trust me."

"You said it yourself, I don't trust anyone."

"You don't trust easily, yet trusted me some I told you I knew Gideon. Which means his meeting with you left a deep imprint, probably something he said, or saw." Rossi fixed her with his gaze. "Or both."

"You're loyal to your friends, even when they disappoint or betray you." She tilted her head to one side, examining him. "Jason did both, didn't he? So why help me?"

"Because I can. And because I think it's the right thing to do. He's not here, so he can't. I am."

They'd strayed into dangerous territory now, and they both knew it. Somehow that only intensified the atmosphere between them and Rossi realised his heart was pounding. Profiling on the fly with no background information, with her, of all people, was _fun_ and it was the most fun he'd had in years.

"You've had few meaningful relationships in your life," he said. "Probably because you can't trust people. But the ones you have had haven't ended well."

"You're Catholic, but married and divorced at least a couple of times. Bit of a ladies man, but an honourable one, with a weakness for damsels in distress." Carla smirked at him. "You're the sort of guy that's the reason the FBI has such strict fraternisation policies aren't you? I bet you worked your way around your Bureau colleagues in your early days."

"You're not above using your looks to get what you want," he said, using his words as an excuse for his eyes to roam over more than just her face, uncomfortably aware that she had him pegged exactly right. Before he'd met her, he'd have protested the damsels in distress part. Now, he mentally amended her insight to include the need for her air of strength. "You play on the fact you can look younger than you are to make things easier. Probably had multiple low-level jobs, all of which you've got by appealing others' instinctive protection of the young."

"You earned your money rather than inheriting it." A note of admiration crept into her voice. "But you've always enjoyed the fine things in life: expensive cars, expensive cigars and expensive women. You hunt and fish when you have time, but you haven't been for a while, probably because your dog is old and you worry about them. You like cooking and scotch too, probably to unwind after a case."

Rossi smiled as the mental image of her walking across the motel parking lot crossed his mind. The familiarity was easily identifiable now he'd had time to think about it. Morgan. It had reminded him of Morgan, and the cocky swagger he had when he came back from the gun range. It hadn't been as pronounced, but now that he recognised it, it made more sense that it had taken four guys to render her unconscious at the side of the road.

"You've had some self-defence training. Quite a lot of it I'd say, formally or otherwise. So, you keep yourself fit. Despite that, you have some body image issues, not least about the marks on your arms." She drew back and crossed her arms across her stomach as if to hide them, despite wearing a shirt that covered them completely. "I'm willing to bet they aren't the only ones either. You don't have a bad bone in your body, although a few of them have been broken for you over the years.

She eased back on the sofa, crossing one leg over the other in a show of relaxation Rossi didn't believe for an instant. If there was ever anyone living on the edge of fight or flight, it was her.

"You work as part of a team now, but that took some getting used to, you're independent, like me. You're an obsessive neat freak, but you have your own form of organisation." She shot him a smug look. "You probably even colour code your shopping lists and case notes don't you?"

Rossi chuckled, unable to help himself. Hearing her dissect his personality was thrilling. "Keep going," he offered, just so he could enjoy it a bit more.

"You're married to your job, you probably think that's why your marriages failed, but after a lifetime of picking up the details in other people, all you want someone who can do the same to you. You love what you do, that's why you went back…no, it's not quite it, is it? Something bad happened. You went back to fix it. I'm sorry."

There was a moment of silence. Rossi had fought to keep himself from confirming each and every statement as they'd sparred. But after hearing her repeat something he'd said to Hotch almost word for word, he couldn't help himself when she followed it up with his return to the BAU. He'd winced and reflexively reached for his pocket, where the charm bracelet had lived for so long. It wasn't there now, he'd almost exorcised those demons.

"It was three times," he said quietly, trying to deflect attention from the Galen case that had haunted him for so long. Carla cocked her head in inquiry. "Married and divorced three times." Rossi sighed ruefully and stroked his goatee. "Although the third time it was only overnight. Divorce: also known as the best way to rip out a man's genitals through his wallet. I've made for some very happy divorce lawyers over the years." He smiled as she laughed. "And now that we've established that we _do_ know something about each other, the question is _how_ did you know, when we only met a few hours ago?"

"I could ask you the same," was her quick reply, punctuated with a jaw-breaking yawn at the end.

"It's my job, I'm supposed to. What's your excuse?" he shot back.

This time the laugh was bitter. "I notice things," she said after a moment.

"Most people wouldn't have put all that together," Rossi said carefully, confident now that he knew why Gideon had handed a lifeline to this girl.

"That's what he said," she muttered, confirming his thoughts.

"Gideon?" She nodded briefly, refusing to meet his eyes. "Did you do that to him when you met? Profile him?" Again, the brief nod.

"Did he…" Rossi's half formed question was interrupted by the trilling of his phone. Frowning at the intrusion, he pulled it from his pocket. Garcia. He paused, thumb over the reject icon, wondering if he ought not to take this call with her still in the room.

"I'm going to bed if that's ok, it's been a long day," said Carla, noticing his hesitation to pick up.

Rossi smiled and nodded, despite being frustrated their conversation had been cut short by Garcia's untimely call. He waited until Carla was out of earshot before answering.

"What have you got Garcia?"

"Have I mentioned before that I hate tracking people with no social media presence? This girl is a cyber ghost!"

"You couldn't find her?" Rossi couldn't hide the disappointment in his voice.

"I didn't say that, oh ye of little faith. I just had to go a bit old school. No priors and DMV is in the name you gave me, but she was born Carla Howel 27th May 1983 in Denver, Colorado. Parents listed as Geoffrey and Anna Howel, the family moved out of state almost as soon as she was born. Mom died nearly a year later in Wisconsin and they moved again. Father and daughter kept moving, never in the same place for more than 8 months or so. She changed her name when she started at South Florida University in 2001 and graduated second in her class in Behavioural Psychology. Incidentally, I think that's the longest she's stayed in one place probably ever in her life. Her dorm is still the address on her driving license. Which expired years ago by the way. How do you travel from one end of the country to the other without a car or leaving a trail I can follow? Shouldn't be possible but it is!"

"Garcia, focus," chastised Rossi, trying to get her back on track. Sometimes talking to Garcia was like trying to herd cats. Possibly from the endless stream of kitten videos she watched on a regular basis.

"Yes, right, sorry. Ah, multiple hospital visits as a child, but no red flags, probably because it was a different hospital in a different state each time, the visits stopped when she was about ten. Various injuries, cuts mostly, with some broken bones. Social Security has her working in a series of jobs all over the country, but there are some long gaps, when she probably worked for cash. Tax returns are always on time, no matter where she is. She's got bank accounts spread across the country too, not very much in any of them, which, I might add, is saying something coming from someone on the federal payroll. Some show some odd activity, I'm still looking into that. She's moved around a lot, I found records of her in various towns and cities in Maine, New Hampshire, Texas, New York as well as big places like LA, Boston, Seattle…the list goes on, but I've got no record of how she's been moving around."

"Anything more recent?" he asked. Her history coloured in some of the missing details, but the reason she'd reached out had to be something more immediate.

"She's been on the payroll of a small printing firm called Print 'n' Dales just up the road in Springfield for about six months. Employee records show her last address, which I checked, before you ask. It's derelict, contractors moved the last of the residents out a month ago, it's going to be a shopping mall. Cos we need another one of those, right? By the way, how does nobody notice that they're sending her pay checks to a house that doesn't exist anymore?"

So now he knew why she'd been living in a motel. "Where does she work? I mean what office?"

"Oh. She works in Payroll."

"So, she could pick up her pay check without it going in the mail. Clever girl." Rossi thought about what else he knew, or thought he knew about her. "Garcia, are there any notes on her academic transcript? Concerns or unexplained drops in her grade average?"

"Yes, how did you know? Never mind, don't answer that; that's why you're the profiler and I'm the technical analyst. There was an incident noted in her second year, but it never went any further because she refused to press charges."

"What happened?"

"I'm digging, I'm digging…oh that's awful. She was raped by her roommate's boyfriend. She didn't report it, the roommate did. She came home late to find Franks hitting him with a hockey stick. He'd snuck in while she was asleep. Rossi, she wouldn't even let them do a rape kit."

Rossi sighed and closed his eyes. The weariness that washed over him was surprising in its intensity – suddenly all he wanted to do was close his eyes and sleep for a week. "What about Gideon's old files?" He asked tiredly, changing the subject.

"I couldn't find a link in the ones already on the system, but I've got a request out to archiving for those not yet digitised, should have that for you tomorrow."

Something else occurred to him then, a piece of the puzzle he was missing.

"Anything else on the father?"

"He was a salesman, travelled a lot, Carla would get left with various friends and acquaintances while he was away. Nothing for about three years, but before that he popped up in some of the same places as she did, although not at the same time as far as I can tell. No criminal record but he was questioned in Boston over some inappropriate touching of a minor, ended up being released without charge. That was when he went dark, there's nothing on him after that. No job, no tax returns, no activity on his bank account, which is empty by the way, not even a parking ticket to his name. I'm sorry, he's off the grid completely, I don't even have a recent picture."

"Thanks Garcia, I think I know what that all means. When you get Gideon's files tomorrow, focus on the ones dating from around the time she was ten."

"Happy to be of service my liege. A bon adieu, I shall keep digging."

Rossi let Mudgie in and poured himself a scotch, hesitated, then doubled the measure. He sat with his dog, his scotch and a cigar for hours, thinking. He knew who she was running from, and had an idea as to why. So desperate for help that she trusted an old friend of Gideon's, even after meeting that man only once. The details of how they met would be the final key to figuring her out.

He wondered if she planned to join the Bureau one day. No doubt she'd make a great profiler, and perhaps Gideon had told her that. There was intense competition for places at the Academy, but a letter of recommendation from him would ensure her a place once she had the requisite time in full time employment, maybe even without it. If it was the right thing to do. Something he _wasn't_ sure of yet. If she was looking to join for the wrong reasons, that could break a rookie Agent and get both them and other people killed.

He fished out a notebook from his desk and started to make some notes. He smiled absently to himself as he wrote, picking different colours for different entries.

* * *

A noise upstairs distracted him from his thought process, and Rossi was on his feet with gun in hand before he remembered he wasn't alone in his house. His weapon went back in its holster and he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. Mudgie whined, picking up on his owner's mood. Not being alone would take some getting used to after so long.

"Sorry Mudge." Rossi reassured his dog with a quick rub to the ears.

He locked his gun away and made his way upstairs, listening intently. From the sounds he could hear through the closed bedroom door, Carla was dreaming, and it wasn't a pleasant dream by any means. He paused, wondering if he ought to intrude. From what Garcia had told him about her past, entering her room in the middle of the night while she was asleep could so easily be misconstrued and sever any possibility of trust between them.

The decision was made when she let out a particularly anguished cry that seemed to stab him right through the heart. Rossi opened the door quietly, letting the light from the hallway illuminate the room a little.

Carla was tangled in the covers of the double bed, the knots effectively preventing her moving as she thrashed around in her sleep. Rossi was by her side in an instant, gently shaking her shoulder and calling her name to wake her.

There was no warning of her transition from sleep to wakefulness. Stars exploded in Rossi's head as her elbow collided solidly with his forehead. When his vision cleared, she was crouched between the bed and the wall, breathing heavily as if she'd been running. He clicked on the bedside light and in a moment of complete incongruity, he noticed her pyjamas had ducks on them.

"Carla?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" She kept up the litany of apologies as Rossi approached carefully.

"Carla, it's ok." Rossi manoeuvred himself to sit on the floor next to her, making sure to leave space between them and a clear path to the door for her. "It's ok, it was a dream, you're ok, nothing can hurt you here." He shuffled a bit closer so their shoulders were just touching, enough to offer support without being threatening. "You're ok," he repeated, trying to make her listen over her repeated apologies.

She quieted eventually, head resting on his shoulder, heart rate slowing. Rossi shifted, uncomfortable.

"Come on, I'm too old for sitting on the floor in the middle of the night." She managed a brief bark of suppressed laughter. Rossi stood and offered her a hand up. Carla looked back and forth between his face and his hand several times before accepting his help. The vulnerability on her face was genuine this time. Rossi could see that clearly, having seen the act before. He led her back to the bed and they sat together on the edge of the tangled covers in silence for a while.

"Do you want to tell me? Sometimes it helps," he asked eventually, when it was clear she wasn't going to speak first.

Carla shuddered and shook her head adamantly. "No."

"Ok," he said easily, and paused. "Do you need anything? Whilst I'd hesitate to inflict one of my books on you, I do have others if you want to read for a bit?"

She shook her head again, this time with an embryonic smile. "No, thank you."

"Water? I'd offer you something stronger to help you sleep, but with a concussion…" he spread his hands.

"No!" she said sharply. "No, nothing that'll keep me asleep." Rossi filed that comment away for later examination. There was something else there, but now was not the time to explore it.

Rossi raised a careful hand to his face to feel where he knew bruise was already forming.

She glanced at him and quirked an eyebrow at the rising lump. "Um, sorry about that. Reflex."

"Some reflex! You have sharp elbows," he said, the smile easing the sting of the words. "I've had worse," he said, instantly regretting his choice of words as the smile faded from her face. "I didn't mean…"

"I know. I think I can sleep again now," she said, refusing to meet his eyes.

Rossi frowned, knowing he'd made a mistake and unsure how to correct it. He stood, untangled the covers and lifted them to let her slip back into bed.

"I won't let anyone hurt you here," he said as he tucked the covers in around her. He turned the bedside light off and stood to leave, to let her sleep, but was halted by her hand on his wrist.

"Dave? Would you…would you stay until I'm asleep?" she asked hesitantly.

Rossi's heart clenched. This young woman had probably been through more in her short life than career agents had seen during a lifetime in the field. And yet, she still asked him to stay with her, despite him putting his proverbial size nines right in it less than five minutes previously.

"Sure." She shuffled sideways to make space for him. Rossi toed off his shoes and settled back onto the bed, back against the headboard, sitting more or less upright. They lay there together in silence.

Her breathing slowed, and just as he was going to make a discreet exit and find some painkillers for his throbbing face, she spoke again.

"He's coming for me." She didn't need to explain, he knew who she meant.

"I know." There was little else he could say. She must have realised the phone call told him enough to put it together.

Rossi gambled and put his arm around her shoulders, hoping to reassure her. It worked, her body swiftly relaxing, tiredness hurtling her back towards sleep.

"Thank you," she mumbled. "I mean…for everything, but…" Carla stopped, clearly unused to struggling with words. "For making me feel safe," she murmured drowsily.

"It's been a while hasn't it?" A sleepy hum of agreement was his only answer. "I'll keep you safe, I promise." There was no reply.

Rossi lay his head back against the headboard, closing his eyes to try and ease the pounding in his head. Just for a minute, he promised himself. Just a minute.

He awoke hours later clutched in Carla's fierce grip as the first hints of dawn were creeping into the room. He'd slid down the bed at some point and was now her pillow, her head resting on his chest and an arm secured possessively over his stomach. She was relaxed in sleep, her breathing slow and even. Her hair had escaped its tie and was now splayed across his arm and shoulder, filling his nose with the smell of jasmine and honey. He had barely a moment to contemplate just how inappropriate a position he'd got himself into before sleep claimed him again.

When he woke a second time, the sun was a little higher in the sky and he was alone. It took a moment to work out why he was so uncomfortable. It had been a while since he'd slept in his clothes and his back wasn't thanking him for the strange position he'd slept in. Carla was already up, and by the sound of it, in the shower again. Rossi decided that was a fine idea and left her room quietly in search of his own power shower.

* * *

The shower woke up parts of his brain that had evidently been asleep since around mid-afternoon the previous day. Questions he should have asked Carla the previous night stacked up one by one in his mind as he stood beneath the steaming spray. She'd still managed to avoid telling him why she'd reached out, what the trigger had been, and why now.

By the time he emerged, the smell of coffee and bacon was wafting through the house. He found Carla expertly tending a sizzling pan while reading a newspaper. Mudgie provided bacon security, making sure that any little titbits dropped, deliberately or otherwise, were immediately and ruthlessly dealt with before they escaped.

Rossi made a beeline for the coffee maker, settling down with his mug at the counter.

"How do you feel?" he asked, testing the waters. Today she was hidden under the folds of a huge navy hoodie. Black combat-style trousers, tattered and frayed at the bottom, poked out from underneath the voluminous top. Heavy duty black boots completed the ensemble.

"Fine!" She chirped, flashing him a megawatt smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Figured breakfast was the least I could do."

Everything that had been so open about her yesterday was gone, replaced with this façade of so-called normality. The smile she'd given him the day before flashed into his mind. Her simple pleasure at the prospect of a decent shower had lit up her face. Unlike now; the juxtaposition only highlighting the differences.

"Shields up Cap'n," he muttered to himself, taking a deep fortifying mouthful of coffee. "You lied to me," he said loud enough for her to hear.

"Did I?" she asked innocently, cutting four slices of bread from a loaf.

"Cut the bull," he replied harshly, hating that he caused the slightly scared, startled expression that flashed briefly across her features. "Firstly, yesterday. You knew who I was, didn't you?" he accused. "Back at the hospital. You've undoubtedly read my books and that's where you got your profile of me. You probably recognised me before I even spoke."

"An omission rather than a flat out lie," she replied, dancing around the question.

"Semantics," Rossi said flatly, scowling. "Try again."

Carla looked at him, properly looked at him, for the first time since he'd come downstairs. Evidently, enough of his frustration showed to compel an answer from her.

"None of what I said last night was in your books and you know it," she said defensively. "Yes, I thought I knew who you were. But I have to be careful. So, I had to make sure first," was her cryptic response, her attention back on the bacon.

"That it was really me? How did you manage that?"

"Your ID has your middle name. That's also not in your books." She paused, a strip of bacon dangling from the spatula. "Jason said he named his son after you," she added.

That surprised him. If Gideon had only met her once, why he'd pass on that piece of information was a mystery.

"Starting with "firstly" means there's at least a "secondly", if not a "thirdly" to go with it," she continued. "Go on hotshot, what else you got?" Her tone was both defensive and playful at the same time, but she wouldn't meet his eyes, continuing the construction of two immense bacon sandwiches.

" _Secondly_ , just now. You're not _fine_ , you haven't been fine for a long time and if you want my help you'll stop lying to me. Trust me enough to help you."

His sandwich was slammed down in front of him with such force that Rossi feared for the wellbeing of his chinaware.

Breakfast ended up as quiet as dinner the previous night had been, but for different reasons. Rossi recognised her closed-off look, the mental retreat behind armour forged over many years. Armour formed to prevent further pain, further problems. Last night had been a result of the shock and concussion, and she was unlikely to be quite so open with him again. Probably ever, now that he pushed her so hard. That bothered him, that he'd caused her withdrawal. Withdrawal from the conversation they still needed to have, withdrawal from him. She ate silently, refusing to look at him, even when she'd finished.

With no further bacon apparently forthcoming, Mudgie saddled up into Carla's personal space to give her a tongue bath. Carla squeaked in surprise then started to laugh, fussing the dog's ears. She finally convinced Mudgie there was no more bacon, and he rolled over for a tummy scratch.

"Faithless hound," muttered Rossi with a hint of a smirk. Normally it took putting Mudge outside to halt the onslaught of slobber. Carla had somehow managed to charm his dog into laying on his back; Mudgie now had all four legs in the air and tail wagging happily as she pet him. Rossi smiled with no small amount of relief. Long enough in his dog's loving company, Carla would talk to him, he was fairly sure.

Any hope of using Mudgie to get conversation going was ruined by the trilling of his cell phone. Rossi glanced at the caller ID before answering.

"Hotch?"

"Dave, we need you back here. Bring her with you, this concerns her too."

* * *

Sat in Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner's office, Carla listened with mounting horror and embarrassment as the stern-looking man recited the sequence of events that had led her here. She sat frozen, digging her fingernails into her palms to control the rising flood of panic.

A body had been found in her old house by demolition crew checking the abandoned buildings for homeless people before they finally knocked it down. Examination of his phone had shown a message supposedly from the previous occupant to meet. When nobody could find her, she had become the prime suspect. At a press conference this morning, Metro had asked for anyone with information on her whereabouts to come forward.

"A man by the name of Mickey Lloyd…"

"That creep, I'll kill him…" She clenched her fists in anger but subsided under a dark look from Rossi. Hotch continued as if the interruption had never occurred.

"…gave police a statement. He said he'd seen the girl police were looking for, that she'd been staying in a room at the motel he works at for about six weeks. He said she was a prostitute and that he'd seen her last night with, and I quote, "some old guy with a beard" who he said was either a customer or her pimp. Apparently when he offered to help her, the guy hit him. He gave a decent description of both of you, and of your car Dave."

The floor inconveniently failed to open up and swallow her whole, so Carla settled for scrunching down in her seat and hiding her flaming face behind the loose collar of her hoodie. She could hear Dave spluttering objections about being called "old".

"I'll help you hide the body," he muttered to her, too low for his boss to hear.

"Metro raided the room at the Alpine, found a kilo of cocaine and assumed the killing was drug-related." Hotch fixed Carla with an indecipherable look. "They issued a warrant for your arrest on suspicion of murder and intent to supply."

"Drugs? Murder?" Rossi's incredulous look was tinged with a hint of suspicion and betrayal as he looked at her and Carla felt the bottom of the world drop away from her feet. She'd been kidding about Lloyd, he knew that, but if he didn't believe in her anymore…her stomach did a slow lazy roll, threatening the reappearance of the two coffees and a bacon sandwich that had formed her breakfast.

"No," she croaked. "No way. That's not…I don't…"

"We know," interrupted Hotch.

"We do?" asked Rossi, turned back to him.

Hotch nodded. "Hospital did a standard panel when she was admitted last night. She's clean, no indication of previous usage and no links to any of the known suppliers that run product through the Alpine." Carla let out a breath, accepting Dave's apologetic look for what it was. "We're waiting on fingerprint evidence," continued Hotch, "but I think we all know whose prints will be on the coke Metro found."

"Lloyd," spat Carla. Hotch gave her a brief nod.

"Quite. As for murder, with no disrespect, you're not physically capable of the damage done to the body."

Carla growled under her breath. She hated being told she couldn't do something, wasn't able to do something. It just made her more determined. So many men had told her she couldn't do something, and she'd proved most of them wrong. Rossi caught the gist of her darkening thoughts from the look on her face and decided to head them off, even if it meant another black eye to match the first.

"Carla, you're 5'4", maybe 110 pounds soaking wet, I could pick you up in one hand. You're basically a weed," said Rossi, fighting to keep the smirk from his face at the growing indignation on hers.

"Yeah? The _weed_ managed to stand her ground against four guys yesterday!" she hissed, jutting her chin in anger. But she caught his amusement, the spark in his eyes, and realised what he was doing.

"And lost the fight to the pavement," he retorted, enjoying himself now.

"I didn't lose, I was taking a break!"

Hotch quashed a smile as Rossi lost his battle against the rising snigger. "Yeah? How did that work out?"

"Not too bad, I got a decent dinner out of it," she countered, staring straight into Rossi's eyes. "And some interesting conversation." The heat in her gaze seared the air between them and melted the chilly strain that had existed since he'd called her out on lying to him. Rossi felt his heart-rate increase with every passing second.

Hotch cleared his throat to regain their attention and some of the tension in the air eased. "The reason I wanted you here is that there were…certain things about the crime scene I wanted to ask you about," he continued. "There are some striking similarities with a number of other cases." He laid a series of pictures on the desk between them.

"Do you know this man?" he asked her, pointing to the first image, a head shot of an African American male, heavily bruised and quite clearly dead.

"Tommy!" she gasped, all humour gone in an instant. Dave moved instinctively to comfort her, but she wrested her shoulder out from under his hand without even glancing at him. Carla swallowed heavily. "His name is Thomas. Thomas Harson. I shared several classes with him at Uni. He…he helped me out with changing my name, his dad's a paralegal." Tears formed in her eyes and she blinked them away furiously. She cleared her throat. "Was, I mean. He was thinner then, and the eyebrow piercing is new as well." Carla smiled faintly. "His mom threw a fit when he told her he wanted it done. Mama Harson doesn't need a phone, she just opens the window and shouts. I think the whole campus heard that argument."

"And this? Any idea what it means?" asked Hotch, shuffling to the next in the pile. Carla leaned forward for a better view. A white wall with a flock of birds stencil-painted across it. Scrawled across the wall was the word "MINE" in block capitals, written in red.

"That's…that's my bedroom wall. Or was, I, uh, moved…is…is that written in blood?"

Hotch nodded. "Yes, I'm afraid so. Lab tests are underway to confirm if it belongs to the victim found tied to the bed."

"Tied to the…" Carla stopped, her face pale. "What the hell happened to him? What aren't you telling me?" she asked defiantly. But she knew, she knew it as sure as she was sitting there. It was too soon! She crossed her arms across her stomach.

That caught Rossi's attention. She wasn't the type to self-hug and he'd seen it once before, when he'd mentioned scars the previous evening. He tried to catch Hotch's eye, but Aaron was focussed completely on the file in front of him.

Hotch showed her the last picture, the one she knew was coming. Carved into Tommy's stomach was the familiar shape.

"I'm…oh god, going to be sick," she blurted and bolted for the door. She dashed through the open plan office, ignoring the startled looks of the occupants who hadn't been there when she'd arrived.

Out the door, turn right at the elevator, halfway along the corridor, turn left. She knew where the bathroom was, but didn't make it that far. Carla dry-heaved into a handy plant pot by the water fountain, barely half a dozen paces from the elevator. Then she just stood, back against the wall and eyes to the ceiling trying to calm her roiling insides.

Then Dave was there, telling her to breathe. What was he talking about? She _was_ breathing, she was fine, and as soon as she could trust herself not to throw up while trying to speak, she'd say so. But right now, she had to concentrate on being calm. Which is more than could be said for whoever it was stood next to her, wheezing like a locomotive under full steam.

Dave sounded like he was further away now, and he sounded worried. Which was stupid, why was he worried, what was there to worry about? She was fine, everything was fine, she just wished the whistley breather next to her would quit.

It wasn't until they did, that she realised it had been her all along and now her vision was going grey around the edges. The last thing she was aware of was Dave catching her as she fell.

* * *

Rossi had taken one look at Hotch and followed Carla out of his office.

"Rossi man, what's goin' on?" asked Morgan.

Rossi shook his head. "Which way?"

Morgan cocked his thumb at the glass doors and turned back to look at his boss as Rossi sped out the door in the direction the mystery blonde had gone. "Hotch?"

"Briefing room in five," was the only response before Hotch turned back to his office and closed the door.

"I wonder why they have matching black eyes?" pondered Reid. The looks the other agents gave him made it clear they had no idea what he meant. "Rossi and that woman. Did the rest of you not see it?"

Reid and Blake led the way to the briefing room, Morgan still glancing backwards to see if Rossi had come back yet.

They'd barely sat down when JJ and Garcia came in carrying two boxes of files.

"Why do I get the feeling that this is going to be a bad one?" asked Blake, eyeing the boxes warily.

"Because it is," said Hotch from the doorway. "Garcia?"

"Yes my liege. Viewer discretion is advised my fine furry crime fighting friends." She made sure to sit down before displaying the images on the screen, so she couldn't see them. "Fasten your seatbelts, this is going to be a bumpy ride."

Garcia took a deep breath. "This morning Metro found a body in an abandoned house, tentative ID of Thomas Harson. He'd been stabbed, many, many, many times and this," she pulled up another image on the screen, "had been written on the wall, in what is now confirmed to be his own blood. He had a text message from the previous occupant to meet and when he showed up…well, see for yourself, it's on your tablets, I'm not putting it up on the screen."

"So much rage, that many wounds is classic overkill," said JJ, scrolling through the images. "There's blood _everywhere_."

"Stabbing is often a substitute for the sex act, combine that with a possessive message, crime of passion maybe?" asked Reid. "The UnSub might be gay, and Harson rejected him?"

"Well, Harson certainly isn't gay, his girlfriend in Atlanta reported him missing this morning," replied Garcia.

"The wounds on his arms and legs are shallow, probably designed to cause pain rather than death," said Blake. "UnSub's probably a sadist who enjoys the pain he inflicts."

"Or the bloodletting," added Reid. "Hematolagnia is a well-documented paraphilia related to vampirism. It's the sexual arousal by blood. As a sadist, the UnSub could have been cutting him not just to make him feel pain, but to watch him bleed too."

"The image carved on his torso is what's interesting, that's a specific MO. That sort of detail takes time." Hotch paused. "And practice. Garcia?"

"Aaand this is where it gets icky," said Garcia with a visible shudder. "I ran a search of body mutilations that fit this general, ah, theme to see if there had been any previous reports. I found…lots. So many. Too many. I'm going to need a full 24 hours of cute kitten videos to balance this out. It's on your tablets."

"As it's serial, Metro officially handed over the case to us," said Hotch. "We need to stop this UnSub, and quickly."

"How many we talkin' Baby Girl?" asked Morgan, studying the images on his tablet, zooming up the image of the bloodied pattern on the victim's stomach. "Is that a flower?" he asked incredulously.

"Two boxes of files, archiving are still pulling them, there's more on the way," said JJ quietly.

"It _is_ a flower," said Garcia, "and I ran it through the HSK database. So far, I've found matches on the murders of thirty-two blonde girls between the ages of eight and ten over a twenty eight year period, and I'm still finding matches," she paused, visibly upset. "I don't have names for even half of them yet, but all of those I have are either runaways, street kids or children of prostitute mothers who are also missing."

"All extremely high-risk targets," noted Blake.

"All of them were raped, mutilated and their bodies dumped by the side of various highways across the country," continued Garcia. "They were all cleaned with acetone or bleach, which is the same as our most recent body. So, no fingerprints, DNA, nothing. All of them have a variation of what you see here, but there's a lot of red herrings, apparently decorative scars is a thing these days."

"Scarification is a rising body modification trend mostly popular among teenagers," said Reid. "People pay to have designs cut into their skin so that the scars form images, words or even pictures. It's often cheaper than tattooing but it's a relatively new thing so there's less safety regulations involved."

"And it's not removable by laser when you grow up and change your mind," said Blake. "It's far more permanent. Maybe that's the compulsion, he needs them to have a permanent reminder, even if their lives are not going to be much longer. The new body's interesting though, huge shift in victimology – I wonder what his reason was for killing an adult male this time?" she asked, waving her hands at the boxes on the table. "If it is the same guy, he's a preferential child sex offender who goes after high risk children. What would he want with a low risk young man?"

"The text luring him to the house came from a burn phone. It's off, I can't track it. I got nothing there," added Garcia. "Although I do have an alert to let me know if it turns back on again."

"Looking at the previous cases identified, his cooling off period varies wildly," commented Reid, flicking through files one by one. "If you look at the dates these girls died, I don't think we've found all his victims yet. Someone this prolific would need regular stimulus." He paused, calculating in his head. "From the timing, I'd estimate we're missing links with at least seven more kills."

"Do Metro have any leads?" asked Morgan.

"Nothing clear – there's a possible witness we need to re-interview, inconsistencies have already been noted with the statement he gave." Hotch scowled. "He's not exactly upstanding and reliable. He told Metro that Dave was a pimp." He paused as the room smothered laughter. "We do have a better potential witness, but she's…"

"Currently passed out in my office," said Rossi from the doorway. The blooming black eye Reid had noticed was clear to them all in the harsh fluorescent lights. "Panic attack after seeing the workmanship on the latest victim," he said in response to the curious looks. "Carla Franks. She's a survivor of this UnSub, I'd stake my royalty checks on it." He looked around the room. "And she knows he's coming for her."

He took a seat and told them most of the tale, from the strange phone call the previous afternoon all the way through to her collapse in the corridor. There were things he didn't tell them, they could look at Garcia's findings themselves for the more horrific parts of her past. He didn't mention her nightmares, or what had happened afterwards. He also didn't mention his suspicion about her scars. He was willing to bet she had one to match the flower carved on Harson's stomach.

"Are we saying that her father is the UnSub?" asked JJ when he'd finished. "Can't we just get Garcia to find him and then go pick him up? The evidence is pretty compelling."

"It certainly looks that way," replied Hotch. "But we still need to go about this as we would any other case. If it is him, he's been living off-grid for long enough that Garcia can't find him…"

"Although you better be sure I'm going to keep looking!" interjected Garcia stridently.

"…so Reid, you and I will go to the latest crime scene; JJ, look into victimology and this design he's cutting into them, see if there's any meaning to it that we can use to trace him or his movements. Blake, follow up with the ME; Morgan, take an agent with you and bring Michael Lloyd in for questioning. Pick him up for Impeding a Federal Investigation and put him in the smallest room we've got. I don't want him comfortable." Hotch turned to look at Rossi. "Dave, she trusts you, I want you to stay here with her, see if you can get any more details, try a cognitive interview about the day she met Gideon if she'll allow it. If we know why they crossed paths, it may give us a clue about where her father is now."

Rossi nodded. He'd expected that, and was a little relieved not to have to leave her with someone else. "I'll go and wake her up. Send out a search party if I don't come back," he muttered as he stood to leave. He caught their confused looks, but ignored them.

* * *

Remembering clearly what had happened the last time he had done this, Rossi shook Carla gently and caught the rising elbow before it met his face. He _hadn't_ anticipated the knee to the groin that came with it and he sat down hard on the coffee table as his knees came unhinged. His hip hit the glass of water he'd left for her as he landed and it went flying off the table to smash on the floor.

"Grnf," he managed, doubled over clutching himself.

"Sorry! I didn't mean…oh god Dave, I'm so sorry!" Carla looked horrified, but even through the pain, Rossi could see the funny side and started to chuckle.

"You have sharp knees as well as elbows. Next time I'm going to jab you with a stick from a safe distance," he growled when he had the breath. "Although knowing you, you'd just rip it out of my hands and beat me with it instead."

The barely audible collective intake of breath from the doorway indicated they were no longer unobserved, the rest of the team no doubt wondering what the noise was. Rossi risked a quick sideways glance at his doorway. Sure enough, they were all there, Morgan in the front, arms crossed and a deep frown on his face indicating his disapproval of Rossi's words.

Carla had no such qualms, the look of horrified mortification quickly erased as she started to laugh with him. Rossi was gratified by the flash of confusion on Morgan's face. He may have suffered at the hands of a predator, but that didn't mean he knew how to identify with _every_ victim of abuse. Carla, Rossi was sure, was one of those who'd turned it into a form of armour, laughing at it to become stronger. Coddling or sympathy would only push her away.

"Not the sculpture on the mantle?" she said between snorts of laughter.

"My sister wouldn't approve," he replied drily. And they were off in gales of laughter again.

As their conjoined sniggering faded, Rossi inclined his head in an obvious "clear off before she spots you" gesture aimed in the general direction of the door. The team obeyed, leaving to get on with their tasks. Morgan lingered a moment to give Rossi a long hard look before heading off to pick up Blake.

"Are you ok?" asked Carla, who was willing to let Dave believe she _hadn't_ seen his team lurking in the doorway like a herd of overprotective sheep.

Rossi shot her a smile. "I'll live. I suppose I should be grateful you didn't get me with those," he added, pointing to her army surplus combat boots. "I'd still be on the floor."

She didn't look all that reassured, but after a quick moment looking him over, she nodded, accepting his answer. He wondered briefly what it was that she'd seen to convince her, because it felt like someone had filled his abdomen with hot concrete.

Carla refused the cognitive interview point blank, which wasn't exactly a surprise. Rossi spent time explaining the process, explaining that she wouldn't be alone, that what she was afraid of couldn't happen while she was safely inside the BAU. He knew he'd mis-stepped as soon as the words left his mouth.

"What is this, protective custody?" she snarled. "I can look after myself!" she got to her feet and started pacing his office. "This wasn't what I had in mind," she muttered angrily.

He knew what she meant. When she'd asked for help, she hadn't anticipated the entire BAU to leap in. The sheer number of other victims had shocked the team, and meant they were professionally invested in catching the perpetrator, regardless of her initial request.

"I know. But we have to find him, before he hurts someone else," he tried to rationalise it. "This team is the quickest way to do that. You have to let me, let us, do our job." His frustration was showing now.

"Why now?" she shouted. "Why not before? Why did I have to call before you even knew he was out there?"

"Because he's good at staying hidden and covering up what he's done!" Rossi's voice rose to match hers. "He's forensically and criminally sophisticated and relies on his victims not being missed!"

Dave took refuge behind his desk to try and deescalate the situation. Shouting at each other in the middle of his office wasn't going to solve anything. It didn't work, Carla just followed him and stood next to his chair, glaring down at him.

"You think you know him, but you don't. You're not going to find him," she said angrily.

Dave surged to his feet and gripped her by her arms, pulling her closer to him to make his point. "Yes, I will."

There was a moment's silence as they stood like that. Carla's breathing was heavy and rapid and Rossi could feel her breasts rubbing against his chest, rising and falling with every breath. Looking into her eyes, the passion he saw there immediately diverted all the blood in his brain southward. All he could think of in that moment was how much he wanted to kiss her.

From the look on her face, she wouldn't mind in the slightest, and in his mind, he _did_ kiss her. He captured her parted lips with his own and pulled her tight against him so she could feel just how much he desired her.

The moment was broken as Garcia burst in. "Sorry, I heard shouting…"

Carla turned away and Rossi sat down quickly to hide the physical evidence of his arousal. He battled to get his thought processes back on track. Office. Case. UnSub. He glanced at Carla and flushed cold as he realised just how close he'd been to crossing the uncrossable line. _Witness._ Thank goodness for Garcia, who was still lurking in the doorway uncertainly.

"Creative differences," he said mildly.

"Jerk," snapped Carla, throwing herself into a seat. Rossi couldn't be sure if that was for his comment or what he had nearly done. "Now what?" she asked caustically. "Since you obviously know better than I do." She snorted. "It's not like I once lived in a tree for a week to escape his notice," she added sarcastically.

With the cognitive interview off the table for the moment, Rossi decided to switch focus, ignoring Carla's jibe. Finding out how the UnSub had found her in Virginia would give them a bead on his methods. That meant digging into every aspect of her life, and there was only one person in the BAU for that. Who was currently hovering in his doorway, still trying to work out what she'd interrupted.

"Carla Franks, meet Penelope Garcia, Tech Wonder of the BAU and all-round Superhero."

Predictably, Garcia blushed all the way from her considerable cleavage to the roots of her hair. "And you're the sweetest man alive to say it, even if it is true," she replied. "Hi!" she thrust out a hand to Carla, bangles jingling on her arm.

Carla took in the zany dress sense, which today included purple feathers and polka dots combined with pink sparkly heels. Numbly, she shook Garcia's hand. Rossi smirked. Garcia had that effect on people when meeting them for the first time. And sometimes on people she'd known for years. He used Carla's momentary lack of focus to usher both women from his office in the direction of Garcia's lair.

"Garcia, we need to find out how the UnSub found Carla in Virginia. I need you to turn over every stone and see how he could have found her, then try and track it back to him."

Garcia was many things, but unobservant was not one of them. The horror on Carla's face at the thought of her life being turned upside down in such a fashion was clear, just as much as the determination on Rossi's to do so. Carla quickly found herself ensconced in Garcia's lair with hot chocolate while Garcia told Rossi off outside for not being more considerate.

Garcia was in a full-on defensive rant and Rossi decided to make use of her protective instincts. At least he would once he got a word in edgeways. It had nothing to do with the fact that Garcia could be scary when she was pissed off. None at all.

"Look Penelope, shout at me later. This is more important." That got her attention but didn't halt the tirade. "I'm going to talk to Carla's employer, and I need you to look after her while I'm gone." Garcia stopped mid-sentence and Rossi pressed the advantage. "She needs a friend as much as we need information. We need her help. But I need her safe, she can't leave the BAU."

"The hell I can't," snapped Carla from the doorway. "I love my job, I want to explain to my boss what's going on. I need to go with you."

"No! Not while there's still someone out there looking for you. All the time you're in here, I…we don't have to worry about where you are." Rossi could have cheerfully shot himself for his slip, but neither Garcia nor Carla appeared to have noticed.

"Yeah? And who appointed YOU my fucking keeper, jackass?"

"You did, remember?" Rossi fired back, fighting to keep his enjoyment of her anger from showing.

Carla closed her mouth with a snap. She did remember. Garcia looked back and forth between them feeling shocked. She'd never known anyone swear at Rossi and get away with it before, but he seemed more entertained by it than annoyed.

"Fine." Carla ground out the word and turned away from him. "Come on then computer genius, tear my life apart," she said bitterly to Garcia, retreating back to her hot chocolate.

"Don't let her out of your sight," said Rossi quietly as he turned to leave.

Garcia stood fixed in the corridor for a moment, replaying their conversation in her head as he walked away.

"He said, "I need her safe," didn't he? I'm sure of it. Huh," she muttered. "Yes sir," she called, loud enough for him to hear as he turned the corner, before closing and locking the door to her lair behind her.

* * *

As soon as Rossi opened the door at the top of the stairs, he understood why Carla enjoyed her job. The office was filled with laughter and smiles, it was like walking into Garcia's office when she was catching up with Emily. He made his way to the manager's office after asking directions from the red-head closest the door.

Andrew Dale sighed as he sat down after the obligatory introductions. "I wondered how long it would be before law enforcement turned up."

Rossi shot him a curious look, but didn't interrupt.

"This is about Carla Franks isn't it? No, don't answer that, of course it is. She doesn't turn up for work and now the FBI are here. Something happened, didn't it? I knew it!" Dale thumped the desk in exasperation. "Sorry. It's just…I knew there was something wrong y'know?"

"Can I ask what you mean?"

"It's…god it sounds like such a cliché. But it's true. It's complicated. _She's_ complicated." Dale scrubbed his face with one hand, the other fiddling with a paperclip. "I should have offered, said something, I don't know."

"Start at the beginning," suggested Rossi.

Dale took a deep breath. "She turned up here about six and a half months ago, with no references, no job history and only a basic qualification in bookkeeping from some online school or other I'd never heard of. I should have turned her away before she even got in the door…but I couldn't. She had this look about her, young, vulnerable, on the run from something. So, I gave her an interview. She didn't have the experience we needed, not to mention we didn't actually have a job available. When I told her that, she sat right where you are now and told me the office would work better if I rearranged the desks. Can you imagine that?" Dale glanced up for a moment before dropping his gaze back to the paper clip his hands were busy destroying.

"She didn't know their names but she said Maybelle hated sitting by the door because the cold draft made her hands hurt and she was taking it out on Ravi, who I'll admit, is a sensitive soul, dammed if I can work out how she knew _that_. She told me I should put Alice by the door instead because she likes the cool air. It always rushes up those damn stairs whenever the guys leave the main doors on the print floor open. Then she said Gail would be happier if she could sit somewhere with her back to the wall where nobody could stand behind her." Dale glanced up at Rossi again. "Sounds bonkers, right? I thought she was mad, but once she'd gone I watched them all. I couldn't see everything she'd seen, but I could see enough to know she wasn't completely crazy. I moved the desks, reorganised the layout, and the result...well you saw for yourself. It worked. I called her a week later and gave her a job. Felt like the least I could do y'know?" he asked, glancing up a third time.

Rossi nodded. He knew.

"Whatever it was that was wrong, she never told me," continued Dale. "I'm the boss, I don't expect them to run to me with every little thing, but she kept to herself, even out there. I should have asked. I knew it."

Dale waved a hand towards the hum of activity the other side of his door. "That group are thick as thieves now they're not sniping at each other, but she was always apart from that, as if she didn't want to get too invested." He stopped and looked Rossi straight in the eyes. "Agent Rossi, is she still alive?"

"Yes, she's in FBI protective custody," replied Rossi, watching as Dale's shoulders relaxed with relief. She wasn't, strictly speaking, but Garcia had promised to keep her occupied and that was close enough for the moment.

"Oh, thank god. I wondered…when you arrived…assumed the worst y'know? Tell her…tell her the Zoo out there misses her and that her job will be waiting for her whenever whatever this is, is all over."

Rossi nodded. "I will." That was the kind of message he'd be more than happy to relay. "were you aware the address you have on file no longer exists?" he asked, standing to leave.

Dale shook his head as he followed the agent to the door. "No, but she said something about someone interfering with her mail and asked that any correspondence was delivered right here at the office. I couldn't see the problem, and it's not like she ever got anything anyway. Not like some of them out there, parcels from all over the blasted place at all hours of the day, online shopping, magazine subscriptions, you name it." Dale paused, hand on the door handle, thinking. "Y'know, she always picked up her pay check from Gail rather than having posted like everyone else too."

Rossi nodded, he'd already guessed as much. "Do you mind if I see her desk?"

Dale agreed easily and led the way back into the noisy office. The hum of conversation dropped a little, enough for Rossi's ears to pick up the murmurings of worry about their missing colleague. Her absence had definitely been noted. The whispers ceased as they got closer to her desk, the whole room keen to hear what was going on. Rossi stopped at the overly-tidy desk Dale indicated. Rossi smirked briefly – and she had the nerve to call _him_ a neat freak? Her desk was a barren wasteland, not a single personal touch, not a single piece of paper out of place.

Except the box on her chair. Warning bells started to ring in Rossi's head and he had to make a concerted effort to keep his features calm.

"Mr Dale?" asked Rossi, before the man could escape back to the relative sanctuary of his own office. "Any idea when this was delivered?"

"This mornin'," replied a deep female voice from behind him. Rossi turned to face the speaker, an older African-American woman with laughter lines permanently creased into her forehead and cheeks. Long supportive bandages covered her arms from elbow to thumb joint. Maybelle from what Dale had told him.

"Put it on her chair 'cos she don't like stuff on her desk. Tidier than the rest of them in this place, you should see lunchtime, like feedin' time at the Animal Kingdom!" Maybelle snorted at her own joke before becoming serious again. "She ok mister?"

"I'm working on making sure she stays that way," he replied, giving her his most reassuring smile, hoping that he could hold up his end of that bargain. He picked up the parcel and tucked it under one arm. There was no return address, no postage marks. Somebody had delivered it, by hand, to her workplace and Rossi was willing to bet she shouldn't see what was inside.

"You do that, sugar. 'Bout time too." Maybelle turned to shoot a glance across the room. "You tell her that Exhibit B over there misses her, he's got his panties all in a bunch 'cos she's not here."

"Exhibit B" was a pale-looking young man of middle-eastern descent with a nervous look about him. Rossi drifted over casually, trying to make his approach look coincidental.

"You looking out for Carla, Mister FBI?" the question was fired at him before he was even four feet from the man's desk. The man made no effort to keep the hostility from his face and voice.

Rossi nodded. "Yes. I'm keeping her safe while we sort things out." He'd meant to say "we", but it was far too late to correct himself now. "What's your name?"

"Ravi. Ravi Badour," was the terse reply. "She's my friend." He was defensive and abrupt, but Rossi didn't think that was anything to do with Carla. No, it was all to do with him: an FBI Agent sniffing around her workplace, a visible statement of federal authority and it made Ravi nervous.

"I'm glad she's got friends here Ravi, we'll do our best to make sure you don't have to go without her for too long." He knew he judged it right when Ravi's jaw unclenched and the man let out a deep breath. Rossi wondered if he was more than just a friend. "I'll see if I can get her to call you." The brilliant smile Ravi gave him seemed to answer that question and Rossi briefly wondered why that bothered him so much.

* * *

Rossi arrived back at Quantico the same time as Morgan returned with Lloyd, and took great pleasure in seeing the bruise that darkened the young man's jaw. Morgan shot him a look of confusion that faded into understanding as Rossi rubbed his chin and smiled. Morgan nodded and shoved Lloyd along in front of him towards the holding cells.

Garcia's door was still shut. Secure in the knowledge that Carla was still safely hidden in Garcia's lair and unlikely to see the contents, he took the box to the conference room.

"This was hand delivered to her office," he said without preamble, placing the box on the table and retrieving a pair of gloves from his jacket.

"You think it's from the UnSub?" asked Blake, moving around the table to peer at the box.

"I do. He's made torturing her his life's work. Her boss said she had all her mail delivered to the office, but this was the only thing that's ever turned up there for her."

Rossi slit the tape holding the box shut with the scissors JJ proffered, and prodded it open with a pen. "Dried flowers?"

"Anemones. It's the same flower he's been carving on his victims," said JJ. "Reid said there was a bunch of them left at the crime scene. According to him, anemones mean both being forsaken and anticipation. If that's not a statement, I don't know what is."

"He's taunting her. He knows where she lives, he knows where she works." Rossi frowned. "We have to assume he knows that she's here."

"We can get Garcia to check surveillance cameras in the vicinity of her workplace, see if we can catch him at it, get an up to date picture."

"Oh yeah, I can totally do that, but…she's gone!" blurted Garcia from the doorway.

"Gone? When? I told you not to take your eyes off her!" snapped Rossi, the cold chill that ran down his back travelling back up and settling round his heart. She didn't know how closely she was being watched.

"I didn't! Well, I did, she needed the bathroom about half an hour ago but she didn't come back. I looked everywhere!"

"You let her go alone? You didn't stay with her? What were you doing?" Rossi knew he was shouting but couldn't seem to stop.

"Sir, I…"

"Find her," he barked, storming out of the room, leaving Garcia with tears in her eyes.

Rossi slammed the door to his office and sank down on the couch where Carla had lain only a few hours previously.

When Hotch returned from the crime scene, he found Rossi still there, head in his hands.

"You owe Garcia an apology and me an explanation," he snapped.

Rossi nodded resignedly. "I know."

"And?" When Rossi didn't respond, Hotch sat down next to him. "Come on Dave, I know you. What else is going on?"

Rossi sighed. "What happened to not profiling team mates?" he muttered.

Hotch snorted. "That went out the window when you went off the deep end at Garcia. I had to stop Morgan from barging in here and showing you just how unimpressed he is with you for upsetting her."

"He knows where she is Hotch, I have to assume he knew we had her safe here. So now she's gone, what's to stop him?"

Hotch eyed his friend warily. The almost-but-not-quite joke about Morgan had been completely ignored. Dave was passionate about his job, but this was different. Franks had reached out to him but Dave was taking this too personally.

"You do understand we're all working on this don't you? She came to you, but you're not the only one responsible for stopping this UnSub. Stop thinking like you're the only one in this, Dave."

The reprimand was delivered gently enough but for Rossi, the point was well made. His ego had got in the way, again, and while he'd been hiding in his office, Carla was out there with a sadist chasing her. And he'd shouted at the one woman who could find her before the UnSub did. But somehow, the fact that she'd left at all was what bothered him. He needed to know she was safe, and right now...

"Last night, she had a nightmare. I could hear her crying. I woke her up," said Rossi quietly, gently touching the bruise around his eye.

"I wondered how you knew how she'd react when you woke her earlier," said Hotch. "Yes, I was watching," he added when Rossi threw a questioning glance his way.

"She asked me to stay until she fell asleep." Rossi shrugged, a gesture so unlike him that Hotch wondered what else his friend wasn't telling him. "She thanked me for making her feel safe, that it had been a long time since she'd felt that way. And now…"

"And now you feel like you let her down." It wasn't a question, Hotch could see the answer written all over Dave's face.

"In all the years I've been doing this, no one has ever said that to me. How can I _not_ feel responsible?" Rossi snapped. He kept the rest of the thought trapped behind his teeth. _How do I stop feeling like I can't breathe because I don't know if she's ok?_

"Well, you can stop hiding in here and do something about it," replied Hotch brusquely, ironically answering both questions at once. "Or I can send you home, because you're no use to her sat in here."

"You're right." Rossi nodded.

"I know I am," said Hotch, a smirk creeping across his face as he stood. "I also know that unless you want to face Morgan's wrath, you need to make it up to Garcia, and quickly." The smirk faded as Rossi just nodded absently again. "Dave, is there something else?"

"Aaron, I…" Rossi glanced at him and Hotch was taken aback briefly by the look of abject misery on his friend's face before Rossi shook his head. "No."

Rossi stood and straightened his shoulders. It was like watching someone put on a mask, Hotch realised. No matter what Dave had said to him, not to mention the plenty he'd left _unsaid_ , outside the walls of his office he would present this calm face to everyone.

Calm on the surface but not underneath. Something else was going on. Hotch just couldn't quite see what it was. Not yet.

* * *

Roses, chocolates and a luxury vegan hamper delivered to Garcia within minutes of a hurried phone call fended off Morgan's more homicidal impulses regarding his behaviour. Sometimes, having nigh on limitless funds _did_ make the world go around. Garcia had forgiven him instantly when she'd seen the dejected look on his face, but Morgan was still glaring at him as they sat in the conference room discussing what they knew. They were talking in circles and Rossi had to clench his teeth to prevent himself snapping at them all.

"Lloyd recanted most of his original statement, the only thing he knew was that Franks had been living at the motel for about six weeks," said Morgan. "He says he didn't see any suspicious cars or people in that period, but in that place…" Morgan spread his hands. "We all know what goes on there, it's full of suspicious cars and people, I doubt he'd even notice one more."

"The box that was delivered to her workplace was dropped off by a white male," said Hotch. "The camera angle's bad and he wore a cap to hide his face. He's probably about six foot tall but that's all the detail were going to get. Garcia did her best with the image, but there's nothing that's going to help us there."

"ME confirmed Harson's c.o.d. as exsanguination from multiple stab wounds," said Blake. "The flower carving was done post-mortem but the other marks were pre-mortem. No sign of sexual trauma, but there was a single blunt force injury to the side of his head."

"Blitz attack?" queried JJ.

"Looks like it," agreed Blake. "Heavy bruising around wrists and ankles where he was restrained. The UnSub played with him before he bled out. Aside from the lack of a sexual component to the murder, it looks exactly the same MO as the one used for all the girls."

"What about Franks' movements? Anything that we can use to find the UnSub?" asked Morgan, still glaring at Rossi.

"Nothing really helpful. Garcia pulled details of her bus pass from the bus company," said Reid. "I've examined her travel patterns and it's clear that she doesn't really have a daily routine. From her behaviour, I think she expected someone to be looking for her and has adapted to counter it. She takes a different bus to work every day, never gets off at the same stop two days in a row, and doesn't seem to have a predictable pattern of which ones she does use. From the changes in travel direction, we can say with a surety that she moved out of her house at least six weeks ago. Which ties in with the statement from the motel employee."

Reid's analysis of Carla's lack of routine washed over Rossi, as did Hotch's description of the findings at the crime scene. Neat – no surprise there. Simply decorated, with a feeling of transience usually reminiscent of hotel rooms. She'd known the house was only a temporary refuge.

"Dave?" Hotch's voice broke into his admittedly scattered train of thought. "You know her better than the rest of us, is there anything you want to add?" The "or I'll send you home" was clear in his tone.

"She knows she's being hunted and she's known for a while," commented Rossi. "Nothing we can find out about what she used to do is relevant any more, she will have changed her methods as soon as she left the building." Which they were still trying to explain. Carla had apparently slipped out of a federal building without being caught on any of the cameras, something Garcia adamantly maintained was impossible. "What does an animal do when the hunter catches up with them?"

"They run…"said Blake slowly.

"Or they fight," finished Hotch, his eyes boring into Rossi's. "You really think she'll take the fight to him?" he asked sceptically.

Rossi nodded. "I think this is her last stand. She called for help because she's tired of running and she knew he wasn't far behind. Instead of helping her, letting her help us, I imprisoned her. Basically told her we didn't need her help to catch the UnSub chasing her, when she knows best how he thinks. It's no wonder she snuck out as soon as the opportunity arose."

"So how do we find her?" asked JJ.

"We don't," sighed Rossi bitterly. "We find _him._ The UnSub. By moving now, she's going to make herself an irresistible target to lure him out and make him less cautious. Like any predator, he'll have to give chase. She's going to rely on his lack of awareness and try to strike first."

"We need to find him before that happens. He's had practice, perhaps more than she knows. If she's been ahead of him for all these years, she may not know what he's been doing in the meantime." Hotch looked grim. "She may not be able to keep ahead of him this time."

"The man we're looking for is Geoffrey Howel, although he may be using another name." JJ held up a digitally aged picture for the camera, courtesy of Garcia's computer artistry. "He's a fifty-five-year-old white male, six feet in height, approximately 140 pounds. This is our best estimation of what he looks like, but it's likely he's changed his appearance many times to avoid detection and recognition. He's a preferential sex offender and we have reason to believe he's in the area. We would caution the public to be alert…"

Rossi tuned out the broadcast of JJ's appeal to focus on Hotch and the rest of the team, giving the same profile to a crowd of Agents and local cops. He was in the conference room, not hiding exactly, but not wanting to be part of this.

"He's a narcissistic sadist who enjoys the pain he inflicts on his victims. We believe he has independent means, having not held a job for at least four years, but maintained the ability to move around the country at will," said Hotch. "Wherever he goes, he kills. It's a compulsion and he won't stop until we find him."

Reid picked up the thread. "He is sexually aroused by making his victims bleed and in all his previous crimes, he sexually molested young girls. But his pattern has been disrupted, and his latest victim was a twenty-nine-year-old male."

"We believe this is because he is trying to track down this woman," said Blake, holding up Carla's photo. "Carla Franks is believed to be a survivor of this UnSub and he may be planning to hurt her again. Thomas Harson helped her change her name, in helping her, he became a target."

"This man is dangerous, and should not be approached. Any sightings should be coordinated through this office. Thank you," finished Morgan.

Rossi turned his attention to the phones in the bullpen as the team filtered back into the conference room. Three were already ringing. Sifting through the calls to filter the true leads from the false always felt like climbing a mountain. False starts, dead ends, it was always so frustrating. But public appeals helped, and more importantly at this stage, was the hope that Carla had seen what they were doing. They hadn't mentioned her in the public broadcast, trying to tell her that they were following her lead. He didn't like it, but she'd disappeared and they had no choice now. They had to do it her way. She'd forced their hand and now had a considerable head start. Tapping his pen on his pad, Rossi let the thoughts circle.

Garcia had finally established how Carla had escaped, and he had to give her credit for ingenuity. With an FBI windbreaker and a cap to match, both stolen from his office, she'd slipped into a group of Academy candidates on a tour, blending into the crowd with confidence and ease that he admired. With her hair tucked up under the cap and always facing away from the cameras, she was barely recognisable. From the main doors, she'd branched off from the group at an opportune moment and disappeared. The pen tapped faster.

From there, there had been two leads on her. Neither of which had meant a thing. Garcia had finally figured out the strange transactions on some of Carla's bank accounts. Every now and then, she'd make a long trip to make a deposit or withdrawal in a town far from where she currently lived. As a counter-measure it was a good one, and effective. The two transactions she'd made since leaving Quantico indicated Carla was running south towards the North Carolina state border, something none of them believed, given what she'd done before. The pen stopped.

Except him.

Fight or flight. Everyone assumed she'd chosen flight. Rossi wasn't so sure. The passionate warrior spirit he'd sensed in her told him she was going to fight instead.

If one were to assume that all her movements had been tracked with the same precision as everything else the UnSub had done so far, then that so-called "obvious trail" was probably exactly that. The pen started to tap again, slower this time as the thoughts coalesced.

If one ignored every behaviour she'd exhibited previously: the sneaky, hunted animal behaviour that screamed of self-preservation; she wasn't setting a false trail. It was deliberate, unlike all the other random transactions she'd made over the years. It was a taunt. _Catch me if you can_. The audacity was astounding. But was it audacity or desperation?

Harson had been lured to her old house by a panicky text message purporting to be from Carla. When she'd not responded, he had flown in to check up on her, worried that the girl he hadn't spoken to since university had contacted him in a panic after not speaking for so long. Unaware she hadn't lived in the house for weeks, he walked right into the waiting arms of his own death.

As the man who'd helped her change her name, the message on the wall at the scene of Harson's murder became far more than a possessive statement. It was a threat, aimed directly at her and anyone who helped her. She knew that. Howel had known she wasn't there. And she knew that too. He had known she'd be at very least picked up by police for questioning, ensuring an easy way to quickly pinpoint her precise whereabouts.

Her apparent rush to the border was meant to look exactly that. To draw Howel to her. So where would she go?

"Reid. What's on the way to the state border in the direction she went?" Rossi paused, aware of the uncertain looks he was getting. "That she's making it look like she went," he corrected for their benefit, although he no longer believed it.

Reid exchanged a glance with Blake. "Everything we know says she hasn't actually gone that way. I'm pretty sure the UnSub knows that too, I'm focussing on possible locations in the opposite direction," replied Reid uncomfortably. "Rossi…"

"Never mind." Rossi threw his pen down and stalked to the map on the wall. "I'll look for myself."

"Rossi, she's a victim of this UnSub and she knows he's close. She's going to do what she knows best and run, because it's worked before. I know you think she's going to turn and fight, but she's relying on us catching him before she has to. She threw up and then passed out at the sight of what he'd done to her friend. She's not able to stand up to him."

Rossi ignored Blake' assessment of Carla's mental state and focussed on the map. Where would she go and why? She was an experienced survivalist. There were half a dozen or more National Forests she could be aiming for, but he had nothing to narrow it down.

Richmond was the last place she'd pinged one of her accounts, barely two hours after leaving Quantico. He stared at the map, thinking but not seeing. She was moving fast somehow. Her license was out of date, so a rental car was out of the question, not to mention that she had none of her ID with her, it was all in her bag at his house. And he knew she hadn't been there, he'd had his housekeeper check. So…a train? Or a favour from someone…how about…

"We've got a lead." Hotch burst into the conference room. "Credible sighting of a man that could be the UnSub heading northwest from Gaithersburg. Locals are en route, chopper's waiting."

Hotch sensed his reluctance as the rest of the room scrambled for their effects. It was subtle, but Rossi was slower than the others and last to the door.

"Dave." Hotch stopped him with a gentle hand to the chest. "Where's your head?"

"Travelling south from Richmond," Rossi answered without thinking.

Hotch studied him, the distracted expression and absent look in his gaze. "Dave, I think you should stay here. I think you're too close to this case to act rationally at the moment."

Rossi looked up and met Hotch's stern gaze with a determined one of his own. The two studied each other, a silent conversation in progress.

"You've got something haven't you?" asked Hotch quietly. "What do you know?"

"Nothing for sure." Had he ever lied to Hotch before? He couldn't check, so he wasn't _sure_ , but he _knew_ he was right. Rossi forged ahead with what he _was_ sure of. "I know the false trail isn't one. I _know_ her Hotch."

Hotch frowned. "Dave, I can't spare manpower to chase down a hunch of yours about a change in behaviour that doesn't fit the rest of her profile."

Rossi bit down on the impulse to tell Hotch that escaping expertly from FBI headquarters also wasn't exactly in the profile either, and nor was how she'd flared up at him earlier.

Hotch stopped, able to clearly see the rebellion in his friend's eyes. Rossi would do this anyway, regardless of what he said. "Take a car and an agent with you. Even if you're wrong, I don't think you should be driving around alone with no backup. He targeted Harson because he helped her, you're potentially also on that list."

Hotch turned quickly and left, running to catch up with the team, leaving Dave wondering what had just happened. He turned towards his office: he had a phone call to make before he left.

* * *

Garcia accosted him just as he was leaving his office, gun and bag in hand. She was flapping a file.

"Oh, oh. Did I miss everyone? They need to see this. The hospital sent it to Metro and they just sat on it because the officer assigned to her mugging isn't on shift until later, I can't believe nobody thought we might see to see this! They're not here, I've got to send it to them!" Garcia started to turn away, then spun back. "What am I thinking? You need to see this too," she said, thrusting the file into his hand. "Medical report from the mugging. Scary stuff. I'll send them copies," she added as she tottered away on her pink sparkly heels. "Oh, I need some baby animal videos, stat!"

Rossi opened the file and slammed it closed again almost immediately. He closed his office door and sat down at his desk, digging frantically for the scotch in the bottom drawer. It was practically criminal to treat good scotch this way, but needs must. The shot was a large one, but once it had burned its way down his throat, he felt more ready to look at the pictures the hospital staff had taken.

He opened the file again. Images of Carla's scars assaulted him. Her arms, he'd seen. But the rest of it…it was hard to comprehend. Circling her torso were flowers, grouped in varying ages. Anemones. The oldest were crude, but the skill improved with time, each set more detailed and better depicted than the last. Swallowing his gorge, Rossi counted them. Forty-one. The most recent cluster couldn't be more than eight or nine months old, too recent to fade yet. Reid had said they were missing at least seven kills, looked like the boy genius had been underselling it a little. Each time Howel had killed, he'd added another anemone, turning his own daughter into his personal trophy collection. White hot fury descended, leaving him cold and shaking. No wonder she didn't let people in – every time she got some way toward being settled, the threat of Howel showing up and ruining it would make her move again. The grouping meant she hadn't been able to keep ahead of him all the time. Her aversion to anything to make her sleep made more sense now. Every now and then he would catch up with her, drug her and add more scars. Mentally and physically.

This time when he retrieved the scotch, he took a deep swallow straight from the bottle.

When Rossi left the parking lot less than ten minutes later, he was alone.

* * *

Hotch frowned as Morgan pulled the guy from his SUV. He fit the picture they had of Howel almost _too_ well. He'd been easy to find, and had obediently sat in his car as the FBI helicopter landed on the road behind the roadblock that had stopped him. Unease nagged at him. This was too easy.

"Hey what did I do? Let go!" Morgan ignored him, dragging his hands behind his back to put cuffs on him. "Ow! I didn't do anything!"

Morgan dug the man's wallet out of his pocket and flipped it open. He took a long look and tossed it to Hotch, who caught it one handed.

"You wanna explain why your licence picture looks nothing like you?" Morgan barked.

"What? Is that why you pulled me over?"

Hotch walked away a few steps and called Garcia.

"Yes my liege, how can I rock your world this afternoon?"

"Garcia, I need everything on a Gerald Wright with a W, address 3125 Northside Avenue, Washington."

"Your wish is my command!" Hotch smiled briefly at her enthusiasm and the sound of tapping keyboards filled the line for a moment.

"Single, never married, he's taught math at a public high school for the last ten years, no red flags there, let me look at his social media...oh."

"Garcia?"

"Sir, he's exchanged some naughty, naughty messages with several of his female students, he…oh dear lord why would you send _that_ to someone?"

"Garcia, focus. What was he sending to them?"

"Sex videos. Of them. Of him with his students. Oh, it's awful, some of these girls can't be more than fifteen."

"What about recent calls and texts?"

"Last call was from a burner phone, about four hours ago. Lasted about five minutes, before that, it was another one of his students."

"Dig, Garcia! Deep as you can go, this guy knows _something_." Wright looked exactly like the digital approximation of Howel, nothing like his licence photo. There was a connection there somewhere.

"I'm like Alice down the rabbit hole, I'll hit you back."

Cries of surprise and horror drew his attention. His team was clustered around the trunk of Wright's SUV, and as he watched, Spencer walked away, holding his hand to his mouth. Alarmed, Hotch swiftly covered the few steps to the suspect's vehicle and peered over JJ's shoulder.

Laying among scattered tools was the body of a young blonde girl no older than eight, the familiar flower carved into her flesh. Hotch stepped back and called Garcia again.

"I'm not ready, I'm good, sir, but I'm not that good, I know time is short but I haven't had time, I don't have enough for you yet!"

"Garcia, we've got a body in Wright's car…"

Garcia's gasp of shock was clearly audible. "It's not…?"

"No, no sign of her. It's another of Howel's victims. I think Howel set him up. Can you trace the source of the tip that led us to him?"

"Of course, let me…oh no no no no! Why didn't I think of that? It's the same burner that called him earlier, the pervert math teacher, I mean."

"Thanks Garcia."

Hotch grabbed Wright from Morgan's clutches and slammed him back against the hood of his SUV. "Talk. Everything you know about Geoffrey Howel," he snarled.

"Who?"

Dragging the man upright by his shirt, Hotch spoke slowly, his voice low and threatening. "He set you up. He let you get far enough away from where you met him and called in a tip, led us to you looking just like him, transporting a body with his signature all over it in the trunk of your car. Do you think he wanted us to shoot you, or were you willing to go to prison for something he did?"

Wright started to cry. Disgusted, Hotch let go of him, his lip curling is distaste.

"He contacted you, told you he knew about what you were doing with your students. You protected him as he protected you. Mutually assured destruction, correct? But then he started asking more of you, didn't he?" Wright snivelled and nodded, wiping his nose on his sleeve. "Where did you meet him this time?"

"F...farm outside Fairfax. I didn't want to do it again, but he said he'd tell everyone that…that…"

"That you're a sexual predator just like him and you like to have sex with underage girls." Hotch glared at Wright as he cringed. "You've been dumping bodies for him for years, haven't you? What name was he using?"

Wright shook his head. "I have no idea. We never used names. He said it was safer."

"Get him out of my sight," he spat, pushing the stumbling Wright towards waiting officers.

"Now what?" asked Morgan.

"Now we have a look at that farm," replied Hotch. "And hope we can find something that will help Dave locate Howel before Howel finds Carla Franks."

* * *

Darkness was starting to fall as Rossi tore along I95. He was going too fast, he knew that, but the only thing he could think about was how far ahead of him she was. And how close behind her Howel was. Unfortunately, the scotch had worn off and now there was no soothing blanket of alcohol to prevent a graphic replay of the images that felt acid-etched into his retinas. He'd spent years, _decades_ even, examining crime scene photos. Examining images of the weirdest and worst things that people could to do each other, and yet…those flowers upset him more than anything he'd seen previously.

Rossi clenched his jaw grimly and pressed down a little harder on the gas. Howel had hurt her for the last time.

* * *

Hotch cursed over the noise of the helicopter taking off as he put down the phone.

"Hotch?" JJ laid a gentle hand on his arm. "What's wrong?"

"Dave. I told him…" Hotch sighed and lay his head back against the bulkhead behind him, closing his eyes. "I told him to take someone with him, Garcia's just confirmed he left alone and he's not answering his phone. He's chasing the UnSub with no backup." Hotch opened his eyes, anger burning in them. "I'm going to kill him if Howel doesn't get there first."

"Take someone with him where, Hotch?" asked Morgan.

"South. He knew Wright was a false trail. Reid, Blake, when we get to the farmhouse, I want you two to stay there, Morgan, JJ and I will continue south, try and overtake them. Your job is to work out where we need to go to be waiting."

The abandoned farmhouse had been relatively easy for Garcia to locate once she knew what she was looking for. It had been a simple case of backtracking the GPS in Wright's SUV and _ding_ , there it was. Too easy to keep her occupied for more than a minute or two, so when the phone rang it was a relief.

"Oh, my darlings, I was starting to wonder if you'd forgotten about me, you know I need regular stimulation…"

"Garcia, it's Reid. We're at the farmhouse and I need you to look up a face for us. He could be the next target. There's surveillance photos of him and of him with Franks, we need a name. Alex just sent you pictures."

"Anything for you my Boy Wonder! Oh, yep email coming through. My, isn't he a pretty one? Not as handsome as you obviously, but a girl's gotta window shop occasionally." There was a brisk rattle of a keyboard. "Ok, name is Ravi Badour, Junior Payroll Clerk at Print 'n' Dales, same as Franks, frequent calls and texts to a burner phone we know is hers…"

"Any indication that they're in a relationship? The pictures are all outside where they work together, and they seem very close for colleagues in some of these photos."

"Ah, negatory my handsome genius. Ravi has a boyfriend, although it looks like he's trying to keep it secret…his parents are fairly traditional and it looks like she's has been running interference for him, acting the part of his girlfriend at family engagements. Apparently dating a white _girl_ is more acceptable to them than dating a white _boy_. Oh, that's so sad. He can't be with who he wants to be and she hasn't got anyone at all." Although maybe…Garcia clamped down on _that_ thought. Hard.

"But Howel may not know that," noted Reid. "We need to get Ravi and his family into protective custody, can you send units to his house and that of his parents please? Carla may have borrowed Ravi's car, see if you can track it."

There was a brief rattle of keyboards.

"Uh, Reid? There's already a BOLO out on Ravi's Jaguar."

"What? Who requested it?"

"We did. I mean us, the BAU. Rossi must have done it before he left. Last seen at a gas station heading south on I95 from Richmond."

"Call Hotch. Right now, Garcia."

Reid hung up, clearing the line as quickly as he could, leaving Garcia talking to empty air.

Hotch had been furious, although not with her. His frustration had been clear in his tone and he'd said some choice things about Rossi's methods. They got cut off before Garcia could tell him there'd been a new hit on the BOLO. When the phone rang again almost immediately, she stabbed the speakerphone button and reeled off the details of the hit before realising the background thud-thud of rotor blades was missing.

"Thank you, Penelope, it's nice to speak to you too."

"Agent David Rossi you are in so much trouble! What were you thinking? Hotch is going to…to…I don't know, but you better believe it won't be good!"

Rossi chuckled as if genuinely amused. "Worry not oh Mistress of Knowledge, I'm not quite as crazy as Hotch thinks, although I may have been for a little while. You can tell him that his voicemail threats of evisceration are quite unnecessary."

"That's good, really good, because it wouldn't be the same here without my Italian Stallion. What do you need?"

"We need to work out where she's going. I've spent hours driving blindly but I have some ideas."

"Shoot."

"We know she's still going south, and apparently still in Ravi's car. That's risky, as her boyfriend that makes him a potential target…"

"Protection detail for his family already taken care of sir, but they're not a couple. Ravi's in a relationship with a gorgeous site labourer called Matt. Carla's his cover with his parents."

"Really?" There was an odd tone in Rossi's voice that Garcia couldn't quite place. "That's interesting."

Rossi heard the tell-tale click as another line joined the call and grinned. Garcia was good, she hadn't conferenced Hotch in, otherwise he'd be able to hear the helicopter. It didn't matter, Hotch needed to hear this anyway.

"She's going south, laying a deliberate trail for Howel to follow. There's something or someone she's headed for."

"I have nothing. I mean, I cross checked anything from her past, previous addresses, jobs, people she knew, bank accounts, there's nothing obvious in North Carolina that links with the direction she's going. There's nothing, not until you get to Florida, but that's a _long_ way."

"I agree, there's something closer than Florida. What about the flowers?"

"The flowers?" Garcia was completely nonplussed. "What about them?"

"Is there a nursery or large wholesaler or something in this direction that specialises in anemones? One near a National Forest or similar?"

"The flowers! Why didn't I see that?" A quick rattle of a keyboard gave an answer. "Nope."

"How about a large one that doesn't specialise. It would be big, an isolated area large enough to grow multiple varieties. Expand your search into neighbouring states, South Carolina to start with."

"There's a plantation for Flowering Futures – isn't that a nice name? They're just outside Charleston, near the Francis Marion National Forest. They supply most of the East Coast with that type of flower, among others. Her father worked for them for like, a couple of weeks, twenty years ago. It's a flimsy connection, you think she'd go that far?" asked Garcia, sending details of the site to the entire team.

"I do. It's tenuous I grant you, but everything she's done has been a taunt to him. What's the betting the flowers he sent her were grown there? She's using the car of a man that on paper, looks like a boyfriend. She's still using it five hours and over three hundred miles later, knowing we'd put a BOLO on it eventually. What's the betting Howel has a police scanner? She's banking on him knowing what she's driving and where she's going. Tell me again the details of the latest hit on that BOLO?"

"Ah, she ran a stop light in Goldsboro about ninety minutes ago. Locals lost her when she re-joined the Interstate."

"Enough to guarantee local LEO's would take notice. Clever."

The line filled with rotor blade noise as Hotch finally convinced Garcia to let him speak to Rossi.

"Where are you Dave?" came Hotch's angry voice over the noise. Rossi smirked, it didn't take Reid to figure out that he hadn't been happy to be on mute for most of that conversation.

"Exactly where I need to be. How long have you been listening Aaron?" asked Rossi, as if he didn't know.

"Long enough to know you were right about which direction she went in, and wrong about what you're planning."

"I'm not planning anything," retorted Rossi, the smile evident in his inflection.

"I know, that's what concerns me." Rossi barked a harsh huff of laughter. "We're a team Dave, and this lone wolf charge into the unknown is contrary to everything the BAU stands for."

"I should never have let her out of my sight Aaron," replied Rossi evenly. "I promised her I'd keep her safe and now look where we are. I plan to honour that promise," he said, speeding up to change lanes. "One way or another." He flicked the switch to turn on the lights and sirens and spoke up over the din. "I don't have time to wait for you to catch up with me. We know where this ends. See you there." He hung up before Hotch could respond and accelerated into the deepening gloom.

* * *

"Son of a bitch!" Hotch wanted to hurl his phone out the window but managed to restrain himself. He thrust it roughly at Morgan instead so he could massage his temples to fend off the burgeoning headache developing there. "Reroute the chopper, we're going back to Quantico. We'll get to Charleston quicker on the jet."

Garcia videocalled them on the jet to let them know she'd tracked the GPS in Rossi's Suburban. He was making good time to Charleston, and would in all likelihood, still be there before them.

"Damn. Won't this thing go any faster?" asked Morgan, not quite joking.

"Only if you want to get out and push, Chocolate Thunder," replied Garcia.

"I'll pass on that Mama, I'm not dressed for the altitude out there."

"In that case, you'll land Charleston International in about twenty minutes, cars will be waiting, I've already had the sat navs programmed for you. Bring our wayward Italian home safe please."

"You're the best Baby Girl."

"Aw, I know!" Garcia winked at them all and severed the link.

She hadn't been so chirpy when she called them back forty minutes later, just as Hotch was negotiating evening rush hour through the city centre.

"This is huge, so huge. Oh god, be careful!"

"C'mon Baby Girl, focus," said Morgan, watching the vein at Hotch's temple flutter in frustration. "What's wrong?"

"Everything! I took the liberty of looking a bit deeper into that flower company, turns out that four of the female employees so far share some startling facial similarities to the missing women whose children turn up at the side of the road, al la our UnSub. Their names and social security numbers are different, but facial recognition is a match. I dug a little deeper, turns out, all four withdraw their wages in cash each month, but I can't find any ATM or bank footage of them doing so."

"You think these women are being held against their will?" asked Hotch tersely, before laying his hand on the horn in an attempt to escape the traffic snarl they'd been caught up in.

"Yessir. From what I can make out, this company is a major source of child pornography and, much as I hate to say it, snuff movies. I've ID'd several of our nameless victims in films that make their way round the dark recesses of the internet where the creeps hang out. Not just the women, their kids too. I was wrong, so wrong, Flowering Futures is a horrible name. The things I've seen…I feel like I need to wash my eyeballs."

"Thank you, Garcia."

"Oh sir, there's more. Agent Rossi asked me to look into Gideon's old files to find out how he and Carla Franks crossed paths. I had to get the hard copy files, but I found something. When Carla was ten, Gideon was investigating the disappearance of a woman, thirty-eight-year-old Gina Trake and her five-year-old daughter Melinda from Tennessee. Gideon interviewed Geoffrey Howel as a routine part of that investigation. Howel was a salesman, so he travelled around a lot. He had been in the same town as Gina at the time of her disappearance and drove all the way to South Carolina the next day. It wasn't for work and he missed a meeting and he got fired."

"So, he kidnapped them and delivered them to Flowering Futures, but it cost him his job," said JJ. "That's bold, driving across three states with a kidnapped woman and her child in the car with him. What's the betting that he kept on kidnapping for this outfit and that's his source of income? He probably had other jobs as cover over the years, but still. It's risky."

"He had to restrain his more sadistic urges after Gideon's visit, Carla Franks suspicious hospital visits stopped right around that time," added Morgan. "If he was cutting her like Rossi thought, Gideon may have scared him into focussing his activities elsewhere."

Hotch frowned, accelerating through the traffic. "Which makes me wonder if we've grossly underestimated how many people he's hurt in the meantime," he said tersely. "Garcia, have SWAT and CSU meet us at the nursery."

* * *

With no idea how close or otherwise the team was behind him, Rossi slowly approached Flowering Futures. He'd slowed to a crawl and turned off his headlights, relying on the lights positioned around the complex to navigate the last few ruts in the road. It was an unusually secure location considering it was effectively in the middle of nowhere. Large fences surrounded various barn-like buildings and the security lights were harsh and bright. Off to one side, he spotted the road-dirtied green Supercharged Jaguar XLR Carla had been driving, parked up in a large barn housing a series of geriatric-looking tractors. Creeping slowly forward, he pulled up behind it.

The Jag was ticking gently as it cooled, and when Rossi put a hand to the hood, it was still warm despite the rapidly dropping air temperature. He wasn't that far behind her, which was reassuring. What wasn't, was that neither he nor the rest of the team hot on his heels knew what Howel was driving. Or even _if_ he was driving. For all he knew, he could already be here too.

Rossi stretched, wincing at the crackle from his spine. He was exhausted, running on fumes; propped up by dreadful gas station coffee, an awkward night's sleep after a difficult case and a week on hotel mattresses before that. Now he'd driven over four hundred miles into the middle of the night chasing fulfilment of a promise given to someone he'd met only yesterday afternoon. When he got home, he was going to sleep for a week, wake up and think this was all a bad dream.

It wasn't _all_ a bad dream though. The image of the fiery look Carla had given him earlier flashed into his mind again, temporarily overriding the ones of the flowers carved into her skin. He hesitated for a moment, wondering if he ought to wait for the rest of the team. He was aware he wasn't exactly acting rationally, and that diving into an unknown situation with no back up and no idea where to go was the epitome of that irrationality.

He did it anyway.

* * *

Morgan held on for dear life as they bounced over yet another deep rut along the dirt road to Flowering Futures. The suspension dipped and complained as they jolted straight through it into another.

"Hotch! Slow down man, or we gonna be walkin' the rest of the way."

Hotch didn't appear to have heard him. His knuckles white as he gripped the wheel, fingernails making indents in the leather trim, Hotch sped down the bumpy road. Morgan couldn't blame him. Garcia's last call before cell service failed had been troubling, to say the least. She'd confirmed IDs of two more victims and Rossi's phone had dropped out of sight a couple of miles from Flowering Futures. That could mean either he'd lost service like they had, or that Howel had already got to him.

Hotch was beyond furious now, having passed through the red heat of anger into something almost cold and detached. The profiler in him knew that part of that was because he'd lost two colleagues in quick succession not all that long ago, and was vehemently against losing another if he could help it. Rossi had gone in without back up and without vital information that could keep him alive. His mood was only compounded by the fact that Rossi had told them exactly what Franks was doing and they'd all dismissed it. Dave had known something, seen something in her that they hadn't.

They hit another rut, hard. Amidst the mingled exclamations of pain and surprise from the occupants, the sound of a terminal crunch from the Suburban's suspension could clearly be heard. It lurched to one side, finally coming to an ungainly stop half in a hedge.

"Fuck!" Hotch swore as the airbag deployed in his face.

Morgan exchanged worried looks with JJ as they rubbed their respective bumps and bruises. Telling Hotch "I told you so" didn't seem like a good idea, tempting as it was.

Hotch battled his way out of the airbag and threw open the door, slamming it shut as hard as he could and taking a few deep breaths to regain control.

He was already heading to the back of the car for the weapons before Morgan and JJ had climbed out.

"How far?" he barked roughly, annoyed with himself more than Dave, for the moment at least.

"On foot, maybe half an hour," replied Morgan, looking at the ruined SUV. Hotch hadn't just killed the suspension, it looked like he'd snapped the axle. There was no way the Suburban was moving without a tow truck. "We'll still get there ahead of SWAT."

"Get moving," said Hotch, already buckled into his vest, swinging a rifle over his shoulder, his breath pluming in the cold air as he started to jog.

Morgan and JJ scurried to grab their kit and hurried down the road after Hotch, towards Flowering Futures.

* * *

Rossi paused in one of the few shadows next to a large barn, trying to think. None of the other vehicles he'd come across had been warm, which either meant he'd made it before Howel, or that Howel was waiting for them. Flowers were apparently a 24/7 industry from the sounds coming from the large corrugated steel barn opposite. Packing was the only think he could think of that made sense. So, now that she was here, where would she head? Not somewhere where there was people. Collateral damage wasn't her style, and she wouldn't want Howel to have the possibility of hostages.

That left the growing fields, but a place like this had hundreds of square miles, she could be anywhere. It would be somewhere significant, either to her or Howel, or both. Anemones were the common thread, the fields where they grew would be a good first place to look, even if it was the wrong season for them. But finding where that was would be nigh on impossible.

He crept around the side of the barn, considering. If he waltzed up and announced himself, that could ruin everything Carla had tried to put in place, and put her life in danger. That made that option out of the question. Which left stealth. He made his way slowly round the perimeter of the scattered buildings, thinking desperately as he went.

Somewhere this large had to have labour, to pick and tend the flowers. Even hydroponic growers needed that, and the flowers here were grown naturally. Much more labour intensive. Work like that was hard and poorly paid, meaning there was probably a high turnover of field workers. With lots of people unfamiliar with the layout, there had to be…there it was. Next to an immense compost heap, just ahead of him.

Rossi smirked in the darkness as he looked up at the field map at the head of a dirt road leading away from the clustered buildings.

He set out down the road at a steady jog, but couldn't keep the pace for long. Too little sleep, too little food and events of the last week conspired against him and less than ten minutes later, Rossi slowed to a fast walk, disgusted with himself.

The light from the complex behind him barely illuminated his path, but he knew better than to use his flashlight. Nothing would give him away faster, and currently, the element of surprise was about the only advantage he had. About two miles later, he branched left at a fork in the road. The lights behind him had faded to a glow on the horizon, but the moon was nearly full and every now and then escaped cloud cover to light the road. No longer running, the cold started to seep into his hands. Holstering his weapon, Rossi jammed his cold hands in his pockets. He wished he hadn't left his coat in the car and walked faster to try and keep himself warm. It wouldn't work for long, exhaustion would combine with the chill, and hypothermia wouldn't be far behind. But that didn't matter. Carla was more important.

* * *

Morgan laid his hand on the hood of the FBI Suburban parked behind Ravi Badour's Jag. Barely warm, but that meant little with the chill of the night.

"Still warm," he said. "Just. Probably only half hour, forty minutes behind him, tops."

Hotch growled, knowing that his impatience had cost them an opportunity to corral Rossi before he did something stupid. More stupid than he'd already managed, that was.

"Hotch, I didn't mean…" Hotch cut Morgan's aborted apology off with a wave of his hand.

"Garcia said the anemone fields were on the eastern side, satellite showed another dirt road heading that way towards a river. We'll leave SWAT to deal with the rest of this place, we're going to find Dave. Let's go."

Morgan and JJ nodded and together they made their way carefully round the buildings to the road in question. Time was running out, and they had all seen Rossi's coat and bullet-proof vest still laid across the passenger seat.

"Complete with directions, how considerate," commented JJ quietly with a grim, mirthless smile when she caught sight of the large map. "First branch left, then straight on over the river."

They set off, jogging again, urgency pushing them onwards. Further, faster.

* * *

The river came as a surprise, Rossi hadn't remembered that from the map, but it wasn't like he'd given it more than a cursory glance anyway. He was cold now, too cold. His suit jacket did nothing to keep out the chill and the sweat from his jogging earlier had turned his shirt into an icy glove around his body. He stopped well back from the bridge, lurking behind a handy tree and doing his best not to shiver. He stood motionless, gun in one cold hand, trying to listen over the sound of running water and his own uneven breathing.

That decision probably saved his life, the rustle of dead leaves warning him of someone creeping up behind him. He ducked, so the blow aimed at his head hit his shoulder, but it was enough to knock him off his feet. His gun flew from his grip as he fell, nerveless fingers suddenly refusing to cooperate. His head struck a tree root on the way down, stunning him and sending blood into his eyes. Desperately trying to scramble out the way of the inevitable follow up, Rossi didn't see where the knife came from. One second Howel was standing above him, shovel raised and the next, there was wooden-handled blade protruding from his shoulder.

Rossi looked down for what felt like mere moments to try and retrieve his backup weapon from his ankle; all the while wondering if he could even make the shot with his stupid hand, dizzy and half blinded as he was.

When he looked up, Howel was gone. The blade was still there, discarded in front of him. Glittering dully in the moonlight, the blood along the blade appeared black to his vision. He fumbled the .38 as he drew it, cold and dizziness working against him. Warm hands covered his and curled his numb fingers round the weapon, just as a waft of jasmine with a hint of honey enveloped him. Carla wiped her knife clean on her hoodie and re-holstered it. Rossi felt a weight of previously unfelt tension in him ease, seeing her whole and alive. Unfortunately, that meant he noticed the cold working its way into his bones with every passing second.

Carla shrugged out of the stolen FBI windbreaker she was still wearing and crouched down next to him. "Stupid bastard. No coat, no vest. If he doesn't kill you, you'll freeze to death. What good are you to me then?" she muttered as she wrapped the windbreaker around his shivering body. She rubbed her hands up and down his arms, trying to help his circulation. "Stay with me Dave, this isn't over."

"She's quite right about that I'm afraid."

Carla stood and spun in a fluid movement, positioning herself between him and Howel, who had Rossi's Springfield. Dave peered upwards woozily, watching as she and Howel circled back and forth, Carla keeping herself between him and the gun.

"You know my price," said Howel, gesturing with the gun for her to step aside. "Submit."

"No," she replied shortly. She put her hands on her hips, subtly grasping the handle of the knife under her clothes. "I'm done with your games. You can't drug me and tie me up out here."

"You think standing in front of him will save you?" sneered Howel.

Carla laughed, a bright peal of genuine amusement. "You have NO idea, do you? I'm not standing here to save me." She looked over her shoulder at Dave and winked. "I'm standing here to save _him_."

Howel had kept circling while her head was turned, and now had the gun trained on Rossi. Her laughter infuriated him, as she had known it would. He raised the Springfield and fired at the same moment she lunged forward. Howel grunted as Carla's knife once again met its mark and the bullet that should have taken Rossi's head off, took a chunk out of his bicep instead. Pain radiated down his arm and he dropped the .38 again. But not before he'd squeezed the trigger hard enough to discharge a round. He had no idea if he hit anything.

"Bitch!" Bleeding from two stab wounds now, Howel lashed out with the butt of the gun, hoping to catch her even a glancing blow. Carla danced out of his reach, lithe and agile, but Rossi could see blood darkening her clothing.

Howel turned back towards Rossi, only to find Carla between them once again.

"FBI's on the way," she said conversationally. "Fancy explaining the growing medium back there?" she asked, cocking her thumb over her shoulder towards the nest of buildings that made up Flowering Futures. She took a bold step forward towards Howel.

"I'd leave if I were you. How long do you think it will take for them to work out what you did?" she asked harshly. "Kidnapper. Rapist. Murderer," her voice low and threatening. " _Paedophile_ ," she growled.

Even from where they were, they could all see the glow of red and blue flashing lights on the horizon. Flowering Futures had been nipped in the bud.

Carla took another step forward. "Run," she said coldly. "I win. This place is dead. Over. You'll never be able to find something like this again."

Howel raised the Springfield once more, this time ignoring Rossi and aiming it straight between Carla's eyes.

She smiled serenely as the muzzle pressed firmly into her forehead. "You won't. You'd never damage your _collection_ , would you?" she sneered.

Rossi wanted to tell her not to antagonise Howel, that a narcissist wouldn't react well to that. A desperate man could do anything; he would know, he was a desperate man too, he had to be after following her here the way he had. Yet despite all his knowledge and experience, his throat locked in fear at the sight of her with a gun to her head and all he managed was a strained whimper. Howel's gaze swung over Carla's shoulder towards him.

Carla caught Howel's shift in focus. "I won't let you hurt him," she said forcefully, drawing herself up to her full height despite the gun at her head. Her knife twirled in one hand, speaking of her skill with a blade. She was only level with Howel's chest, but he took a step back. And then another, lowering the gun. With one last look towards the flashing lights and the crackle of gunfire on the horizon, he turned and ran.

All Rossi wanted was to go to sleep. He battled to stay awake, knowing sleep was his enemy, but it was a battle he was losing. Rossi let his eyes drift closed, despite knowing it was probably a bad idea. If he could have five minutes...His cheek stung as Carla slapped him awake.

"Wake up Dave," she said, pushing the .38 back in to his hand. "You're too cold. If you sleep, you'll die."

"Take it," he mumbled.

"And leave you here unarmed? Not bloody likely," she retorted, ripping a strip off the bottom of her t-shirt. "I know the people who work here. _Daddy_ ," she sneered the title, "isn't the only one here who likes blood and killing."

"Can't see...shoot," Rossi struggled to get her to understand between cold induced weariness and his chattering teeth.

Carla snorted. "Yeah, I know," she said ruefully, dabbing at her side. "I'm not asking you to." She ripped off another strip of shirt. "Fire it in the air, hell, thump 'em with it if that's all you can manage. Your team are coming, you'll be ok," she said as she quickly and efficiently tied the cloth tightly around his bleeding arm.

"Y…you?" he managed to turn it into a question.

She huffed with amusement. "I'll live. I always do, I don't have a choice." She gave him a lopsided smile that brimmed with something that made him tingle. Or was that the cold? "What can I say?" she continued, "all the time I've got my knife, I'll be fine."

"Where…?"

"I've a fair idea. But that's not important right now." Carla closed her eyes in the dark and listened. "There's three agents on their way." They made enough noise that she could have aimed with her eyes still closed and still hit all three. She crouched down next to him, holding his face in both hands as if trying to imprint every detail of his features in her memory.

"We both know this is goodbye," she said sadly. "I belong in the darkness, away from beautiful things like you."

He wanted to tell her he lived in the darkness too, that he was a jaded old man hurt too many times to live in the light. That she had been the brightest thing in his life for a long time. That he wanted to share in that brightness, to bathe in it. To hold her for the rest of his days and never let go. But his vocal chords refused, too used to keeping his heart in check. Too afraid it wasn't real, that he was too old for her, that it all had happened too fast to be true. Much as he wished it could be.

"You gave me everything I needed to finish this," said Carla. "Jason knew, he saw. I was too young to understand he couldn't do anything at the time. "Survive and learn, and when you're old enough, strong enough, fight back. I'll always answer if you call," he said." Carla rested her forehead against his. "He wasn't there when I finally called, but you were," she whispered in his ear. "And I'm glad it was you. I would like to have had time to know you better, David Stephen Rossi."

The press of her lips on his was unexpected, but the fire in her kiss burned him, set him ablaze from within. The passion that had been smouldering between them ignited, and for a moment, it felt like the world stopped turning. Rossi tried valiantly to respond, to pour his illogical heart and conflicted soul into it, to tell her, show her how he felt. He tried…but then she was gone. She merged back into the darkness and shadows and disappeared as if she'd never been there at all. Rossi fired his gun into the ground, wincing at the recoil. If she was right, Hotch and the team were coming and the shot might speed them up enough to be able to find her before she vanished again. He fired again, and again, kept firing until the .38 was empty, the barrel revolving with an empty click as he futilely continued to pull the trigger.

The heat from her lips on his kept him awake and warm until Hotch found him, drawn by the sound of gunfire.

* * *

Rossi had tried to protest when they loaded him into the ambulance, but Hotch was immovable. Bowing in the face of Aaron's temper, barely held in check, Rossi allowed himself to be carted away in an ambulance. JJ went with him, while Morgan and Hotch stayed at the crime scene to await the arrival of their colleagues in Organised Crime. The entire Flowering Futures complex was a crime scene now, and a disturbing one.

SWAT had shot dead four of the ten armed men keeping order at the plantation, the remaining six were in custody. On Rossi's information, it had taken CSU all of twenty minutes to confirm that the enormous compost heap by the field road contained human remains. Six women and their children had been discovered chained in one of the fenced in barns, and the dead bodies of three more in another.

CSU had also found a cell jammer, and as soon as it had been disabled, Morgan rang Garcia.

"Oh, where have you been? I was so worried! Why didn't any of you answer your phones? You shouldn't scare me like that Hot Chocolate!"

"We're fine Baby Girl. Rossi's been shot…"

"What!? That is not my definition of fine! Where is he? Is he ok? Oh, this is bad, so bad, I knew it would be bad…"

"Hold your horses Mama, he's alright. Through and through, we'll be bringing him home on the jet once he's patched up."

"You're all really ok? What about Carla Franks?" Morgan paused. "Derek?"

Morgan sighed. "She's gone, so's the UnSub. CSU's got a dog unit out here but they haven't found anything yet. Got a blood trail but it petered out to nothing. We're waiting for Organised Crime so we can hand over the scene, go get Rossi and come home."

"Hurry back."

* * *

"What happened with them Hotch?" asked Morgan. He kept his voice down. Despite the short flight, Rossi was sprawled out on the couch, fast asleep.

"Only they know that," replied Hotch with a long look at his sleeping friend. "They say love makes you do stupid things," he added contemplatively.

"Love? They only met yesterday," said Morgan dismissively. "Don't tell me you believe in that "love at first sight" crap?"

Hotch inclined his head in agreement. "I didn't," he replied, nodding his head towards Rossi, "but their actions speak otherwise. There was definitely some sort of bond forged between them, and it happened incredibly quickly. His actions were certainly that of a man recklessly in love, dangerously so in fact. Even if he didn't realise it at the time." Hotch paused, wondering if he ought to continue. "If everything he told me was true, and I have no reason to think otherwise; she deliberately stood in front of a loaded gun wielded by a man whom we know who likes to kill for fun. She provoked the UnSub, focussed him on her, just to shield Dave." Hotch shook his head. "If that's not love, then I don't know what is."

Hotch wouldn't let Rossi drive when they landed, insisting on driving him home. Conversation was pointless, Rossi's mind clearly on other things. Hotch helped him out of the car, the Italian protesting the encumbrance of the sling round his right arm.

"Dave," Hotch said gently, his hand still on Rossi's arm. He waited for his friend to turn and face him before continuing. "I'm not going to lecture you…"

Rossi huffed. "Good."

"What you did was stupid, and I know you know that."

"I'd do it again."

"I know." Hotch paused. "Dave, did you fall in love with her?"

Rossi shrugged, a gesture picked from Carla, so unlike his usual eloquence. He looked away. "I don't know."

"They say it's better to have loved and lost, than never loved at all."

Rossi spun angrily and fixed him with a dark glower. "Bullshit," he spat venomously, fist clenching at his side.

"I couldn't agree more," replied Hotch mildly, "but your reaction answers my question." He moved his hand to Rossi's shoulder and squeezed gently, a gesture of consolation. "I'm sorry Dave, I really am."

"Goodnight Aaron," said Rossi, turning away and making his way up the path, preventing further conversation. He was absently pleased that his voice had remained steady. He refused to turn around at the door, knowing Hotch was still there, watching him.

The house felt even emptier than usual. It didn't seem possible that the last time he'd been here, so had she. The mug she'd used was still in the dishwasher, the evidence bag of her clothes still sat in the hallway. Mudgie knew something was wrong, but even his faithful dog's easy company didn't help. When exhaustion finally drove him in the direction of his pillow, he caught sight of the guest room where her bags still nestled at the end of the bed. Indulging a masochistic streak he hadn't known existed, Rossi stood in the doorway for a long time, pondering what might have been. He didn't remember turning away and making his way to his bedroom, his mind filled with the possibilities.

Two hours later he was still awake, unable to find sleep. Desperate, he slipped out of the covers and padded back down the hall to her room. As it would ever be in his mind from now on, he knew. He climbed into the bed she'd slept in and drifted off to the scent of honey and jasmine.

* * *

A week passed. Rossi healed, physically at least. He filed the paperwork regarding the loss of his weapon and his report of the incident by the river. He left out the kiss that still haunted his dreams, and told no one of the thoughts that haunted his waking hours.

Two weeks later, work had lost its edge. The vibrancy of colour and the thrill that came with chasing an UnSub, gone. The satisfaction of putting the pieces together, of breaking down someone's actions to predict the supposedly unpredictable. Gone.

He'd considered retirement, but that would mean he couldn't keep up with his crusade to find her. Not to mention he hated his empty house. The hours spent at work were hours he didn't have to spend at home, alone with his thoughts.

They had taken a case in the meantime, and while anonymous hotel rooms had the advantage of not being his empty house, his heart wasn't in it. Even when they saved two young boys from a delusional budding terrorist, all he could think of was that he hadn't been able to save her.

More details kept emerging from Flowering Futures, organised Crime and CSU had practically set up camp there to go through the mountains of evidence. Rossi followed the investigation closely, calling in favours to make sure he was copied into every new lead, every report. Evenings and even some weekends were spent in his office, poring over reports and images he seen a hundred times before. Always looking for a detail that had been missed. Trying to see if he could work out what Carla had already known. Where Howel would go. He had nothing.

Hotch watched Rossi as he went through the motions of being involved in his work. He had called him out on his "extra-curricular investigation" more than once, but hadn't had the heart to do more than that. As he turned his office light off to head home, he noticed Rossi's was still on. That made four nights in a row that Rossi had stayed longer than he had, and Hotch decided enough was enough.

"Dave, you've got to stop," he said from the doorway.

Rossi barely glanced up from the mess of paperwork on his desk. "That's a little hypocritical, don't you think?" he asked snidely.

"Yes, I suppose so," said Hotch agreeably, moving to stand in front of Rossi's desk. "But look how well that turned out for me."

This time Rossi looked up and held his gaze. "Aaron, I'm…"

Hotch held up his hand and smiled gently. "There's no need. You're right." He sat down and leaned forward, elbows on Rossi's desk. "But you've still got to stop. They both know how to avoid being noticed, you're not going to find them like this."

Rossi glared at him. "You mean we need to wait for another to body turn up?"

"Sometimes that's the way it is. You know that as well as I do," replied Hotch, knowing his words were nothing but the truth.

"And when that happens? What if it's her? I could never forgive myself."

"You're not forgiving yourself sat here night after night either," said Hotch blandly. "And don't think I hadn't noticed you're still wearing the same shirt you had on yesterday."

It took all of Hotch's persuasive skill to chivvy Rossi out the door, but in the end they got no further than the security desk.

"Agent Rossi!"

They both turned to see a keen-looking young Agent trotting towards them holding a large padded envelope. "Agent Rossi, this was delivered for you this evening. There's no postmark so we scanned it and I think you ought to see what's inside. Thought you'd gone home, I was going to have it delivered to your office in the morning."

Rossi tore open the envelope and peered in. Only Hotch's quick reflexes stopped the envelope and its contents from hitting the floor.

"Dave?" Concern filled Hotch's voice, but Rossi didn't appear to notice.

Rossi retrieved a pair of gloves from a pocket and put them on, holding out his hand for the envelope. He tipped it up, and a bloodied hunting knife landed solidly in his palm. "It's hers," he said flatly. "She said she'd be fine all the time she still had it. She's gone, he's killed her."

"We need to get this to the lab, confirm the blood is hers," said Hotch, concern replaced immediately by his usual business-like tone. He turned to the young Agent. "Who delivered this?"

"We don't know. Once we'd scanned it, I went back through the security footage. Guy had a baseball cap on, looked like any other delivery driver. You can't see his face."

Hotch hissed in annoyance. "Send it to Penelope Garcia, if there's anything useful in that footage, she'll find it."

Rossi let the activity swirl around him. Detached, he watched as Agents scurried to do Aaron's bidding.

"Dave!" Aaron's worried voice cut through the fog in his brain just as his friend's hand landed on his shoulder.

"Hmm?"

Hotch peered at him, concerned. "Were you listening? I called your name three times." Noting Rossi's blank, startled stare, Hotch made a decision. "You're in shock, I'm taking you home."

That caught Rossi's attention and he shook his head. He couldn't leave, he needed to be here, needed to know…

"Dave, I'm not asking. You're going home, you're going to get some sleep and tomorrow I'll have an update for you. There's nothing you can do until we have some more information."

Logically, Rossi knew Hotch was right. The DNA testing wouldn't be done for hours, it would take time for Penelope to analyse the security video. His shoulders slumped and he allowed Hotch to lead him out the parking lot and into a car.

The journey was a quiet one, Rossi lost in his own thoughts and Hotch unable to think of anything to say that wouldn't sound trite or condescending.

"You want some company?" he offered as Rossi opened the Suburban's door.

Rossi paused his movements and shook his head. "No. I'll see you tomorrow." He closed the door before Hotch could reply, and trudged up his front path.

The first thing Rossi noticed was that Mudgie didn't greet him when he opened the door. Normally if he was alone, he'd have dog hair on his trousers before he'd even got the front door shut.

The second thing he noticed was the smear of blood on the doorway leading to the darkened living room.

Senses on high alert now, Rossi drew both phone and gun and dialled Hotch as he crept towards the door. The voice that echoed through from the kitchen chilled his blood.

"Leave your gun and phone on the counter Agent Rossi. You should have known she couldn't save you."

* * *

Hotch picked up the phone with a relieved smile when it rang. "Dave? You change your mind about some company?"

But Dave wasn't there. What Hotch heard struck him with horror and he swung the Suburban in a wide arc, ignoring the blare of horns and shouts of protest from other drivers. He switched on the lights and sirens and accelerated back the way he came. He cursed to himself as he drove. He should have anticipated this. They should _all_ have anticipated this.

* * *

"Hello Geoffrey." Rossi kept his voice level, waiting for his vision to adjust to the darkness.

"Replaced your weapon I see. Lots of paperwork for that was there?" gloated Howel.

"A fair amount, yes." Rossi grimaced. He hated paperwork.

"Don't suppose your bosses were impressed that a criminal had taken your gun." Howel had moved, no longer in the kitchen. "Especially as I got away because of you."

"Oh yes, they were thrilled," agreed Rossi sarcastically, still trying to triangulate where Howel was.

"I'm sure they were," whispered Howel, right in his ear. The cold muzzle of Rossi's missing Springfield pressed into his neck. "Put your gun and phone down."

Rossi did so, and allowed Howel to direct him into the living room. Mudgie peered at him through the living room window, trapped in his outside run.

"Some guard dog, all I had to do was give him a treat and he was my friend," sneered Howel.

"He's an equal opportunity friend. If you've got food, he's your friend, even if you're a murdering narcissistic psychopath with deviant sexual tendencies."

"Is that what I am?" Howel laughed softly, the smell of his foul breath filling Rossi's nose. "I wonder, will he still be my friend once I've killed you?"

Rossi didn't reply, his eyes cataloguing the state of his living room in the light thrown from the hallway. Something was out of place, but he couldn't immediately identify what it was. Howel pushed him down on his knees, Springfield aimed between his eyes.

"Let's find out, shall we?" Howel asked breathlessly, obviously enjoying having the FBI agent helpless before him. He cocked the gun, readying himself.

Rossi glared up at him defiantly, unwilling to show Howel fear. He realised what he'd been seeing, or rather _not_ seeing, moments before the hated sculpture from his mantle crashed down on the back of Howel' neck.

This time when he drew the .38, Rossi's hands were warm, his vision clear. The first shot went through Howel's chest, the second two through his head. Howel dropped like a stone, the stolen Springfield tumbling from his dead hand as he fell. Rossi took a moment to kick it away from the body out of habit and turn a lamp on before turning to Carla, who was swaying where she stood.

She was still wearing the clothes he'd last seen her in. Even in the dim light of the table lamp, he could see they were covered in dirt and blood. Sweat beaded her pale face. A new cut across her cheek stood out against her pallor, along with a livid bruise that spread from jaw to temple in the shape of a gun barrel.

"I thought…" Rossi couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence, but she knew what he meant.

"So did he."

"You used the sculpture," he said absently.

She laughed briefly, tears in her eyes. "You said I could."

He reached out to touch her, to hold her, to reassure himself that she was real. He drew her to him, burying his nose in her hair, inhaling the scent of her. Her body was hot, too hot, and her heart was racing. He could feel the tremble in her limbs and damp warmth soaking into his shirt from various wounds he couldn't see.

"Don't leave," he whispered brokenly to her hair. "Stay. Please."

"I…I," she stuttered, and suddenly Rossi was supporting her entire weight. "Dave…"

The only thought in Rossi's mind was what she'd done that night by the river. Even as he lowered her to the floor, he kissed her. This time he _could_ put his heart and soul into it and she purred her approval even as the light faded from her eyes.

* * *

Hotch burst through the door, gun at the ready. He had no idea what he was going to find, having cut the call from Dave as soon as he turned the car around. Morgan was only minutes behind him, as was Metro and an ambulance. He'd heard enough to know that someone would need it, one way or the other. He'd tried not to think about that too much as he drove, unwilling to make the possibility of losing yet another team mate become real somehow by dwelling on it.

He heard movement in the direction of the living room and made his way through.

"Hotch! In here!"

As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, Hotch could make out the shape of two bodies on the floor. Dave was crouched over one, holding something against them.

"Hotch call an ambulance!"

Hotch holstered his weapon and flicked the overhead lights on. Dave was holding the throw from his sofa against a wound in Carla's side, blood already colouring the cream afghan a deep crimson. The other body was Howel. He had multiple stab wounds and lesser cuts, but Hotch would be willing to guess c.o.d. as gunshot wound. He turned his attention away from Howel, now he was dead, he was less than unimportant.

"Already on its way, where do you keep your towels?"

"Downstairs bathroom. Hurry."

Hotch raced to the bathroom and stopped, groaning in dismay. He started yanking open cupboards to find what he wanted.

By the time he'd navigated Rossi's incomprehensible linen filing system, Morgan had already arrived and Rossi's bathroom looked more like a yard rummage sale.

The arrival of the EMTs heralded the addition of some organisation to the chaos and within minutes, Carla was being bundled onto a stretcher. Rossi stood forlorn in his living room, watching Howel's blood spreading into his carpet. Hotch stood by helplessly, towel in hand as the stretcher was expertly manoeuvred out the door.

"Dave? Dave, come on. I'll drive you to the hospital."

Rossi turned his way, expression agonised. "I can't lose her again, Aaron. I can't."

* * *

"Agent Rossi?"

Rossi stood up so fast the waiting room chair nearly tipped over behind him. "Yes! How is she?" His eyes focussed on the brunette in front of him. "Linda?" he asked, suddenly completely puzzled. Somehow this evening his brain had been on holiday, because nothing made sense any more.

Linda smiled reassuringly. "She's still in surgery, but I thought you could use a friendly face. She still had this, I thought you'd want it." She handed Rossi something and left. He sagged back down into his seat next to Hotch and looked down at it: Gideon's card, even more battered than it had been. There was now also a bloodstain on it, rendering Jason's handwriting even more illegible than usual.

Rossi held it in one shaking hand, the other covering his eyes so Hotch couldn't see his tears.

Hours passed in a blur of bad coffee and uncomfortable seats. The familiar and hated hospital smell permeated everything, even the coffee. As the sun rose, the rest of the team trickled in to show their support.

Garcia brought cookies, and while food was the last thing on Rossi's mind, he ate one. He wanted to shout and rage, to wave his arms and pace the corridors. Anything to try and ease the vice that seemed to be squeezing his heart and lungs. The cookie didn't help, he hadn't thought it would. He chewed mechanically and swallowed, giving Garcia an absent smile of thanks.

Blake brought proper coffee, a treat after the insipid mud the hospital vending machines served. Caffeine brought a little clarity, which wasn't really a blessing. Clarity meant thinking about how long she'd been in surgery. About how frail she'd looked when he'd held her. About all the things he should have said rather than talking about that stupid sculpture. The vice around his chest tightened another notch as he wondered if that would be their last conversation, if he'd missed his chance to tell her.

Morgan brought his go bag, which reminded Rossi that he was still wearing a shirt covered in Carla's blood. He stripped it off in the waiting room, unwilling to leave to use the restroom in case he missed an update.

Reid and JJ arrived together and the waiting room started to feel uncomfortably crowded. They all knew what had happened at Flowering Futures, but none of them really understood. Rossi stood and paced a little way down the corridor to escape the oppressive atmosphere.

Hotch found him there a few minutes later. Aaron knew, he understood, although perhaps not entirely. Rossi was grateful for the support of his stoic friend and they stood together without speaking, Hotch with his hand resting on Rossi's shoulder in a gesture of silent moral support.

They were still there when a surgeon in scrubs approached.

"Family of Carla Franks?"

"Yes." Rossi didn't hesitate. "How is she?"

"She's out of surgery and stable, but not out of the woods. She lost a lot of blood. We closed the stab wound, she was lucky, it missed all the major organs. She's sleeping now, you can see her shortly. The main problem now is the infection."

"Infection?" asked Rossi blankly, although now he thought about it, he knew. She'd been hot and quivery as he'd held her. He remembered her pale sweaty face, and the way she'd hefted that blasted sculpture into Howel's neck. Pride in her strength filled him, for a moment displacing the heart-crushing worry that had consumed him since she'd left him by the river.

"She had a shallow wound just under her rib cage that got infected," explained the surgeon, oblivious to the thoughts in Rossi's head. "She'd done her best to bind it, but from the look of her she's been living rough for a few weeks. Cold and poor nutrition probably contributed as well. It's minor for a gunshot and would have probably healed naturally under other circumstances."

Rossi staggered and it if hadn't been for Hotch, would probably have lost his footing entirely. The surgeon left them, unnoticed.

"It was me," Rossi gasped, horrified. He ran a shaky hand through his hair. "I did this." He gulped, the words now tumbling from his lips beyond his control to stop them. "It's my fault. That night, I grazed her. It was cold, I couldn't see. It's my fault. I shot her, Aaron, and now she's…"

Hotch pulled Rossi against him in a rough embrace to stop the flood of self-recriminatory words. There were many things that had been left out of Rossi's report of that night it seemed, but Hotch refused to let his friend shoulder the burden alone.

"Dave, it's not your fault. None of this is your fault. She's going to be fine." He just hoped he was right about that. All they could do now was wait.

* * *

She looked fragile. That was the first thing Rossi noticed. Machines bleeped as they monitored her and he couldn't help but think she'd hate being under so much scrutiny. He had a feeling she despised hospitals as much as he did.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, taking a seat by her bed. He took one limp hand in his and gently threaded his fingers through hers. "I'm so sorry."

He laid his head on the mattress, the events of the previous evening catching up with him all at once. He was asleep in moments.

Hotch watched from the doorway, deciding to leave Dave to sleep. It didn't look comfortable, but he knew the Italian wouldn't leave even if he woke him. Better to let him sleep. Hotch turned back to the waiting room.

"She's stable, but asleep. Rossi's with her. He's also asleep." There was a collective sigh of relief, probably mostly for Rossi's sake if Hotch was honest. They'd all seen how tightly wound he'd been when they'd arrived, he was just grateful they hadn't seen the state of him when they'd rushed Carla into surgery.

"I know he appreciates you all being here, but we need to close out the investigation. Howel delivered a knife to Quantico, got into Rossi's house, we need to know how. Go back to the office, I'm going to stay with him."

"Hotch, we all want to be here for him, we'll take turns. You haven't slept either, or seen Jack since yesterday. Go home, I'll take the first watch," offered JJ. "Henry's with Will, I'm good here until lunchtime."

Hotch had to admit his own bed sounded like heaven at the moment and agreed without complaint.

When he returned to the hospital later that afternoon, Morgan was there, having relieved Blake. He was sat on a seat in the corridor outside Carla's room. Rossi's figure was just visible through the screens that hung across the glass walls.

"No change," said Morgan casually, scrolling through his emails on his smartphone. He took a swig from a paper cup, his face twisting in distaste. "Urgh, the coffee here really sucks."

Hotch chuckled. He'd drunk much more of it than any of them, using caffeine to stay awake during the long night while Carla was in surgery. "Don't I know it."

"Damn machine ate my quarter too," groused Morgan.

"Count yourself lucky, it ate three of mine."

Movement from Carla's room caught their attention and they moved to peer through the blinds.

Rossi had woken many hours before, Carla's hand still entwined with his. His neck complained about the odd position he'd slept in, and a brief smile had crossed his face. He had an odd habit of sleeping in odd positions when it came to this woman who'd dropped into his life and turned it upside down.

Since then, he'd been sat just watching her face as she slept. He couldn't have said how many hours passed like that, so it was a moment before he realised her eyes were fluttering open.

"Hey. Welcome back." His hand tightened briefly around hers and he stood to brush her hair off her forehead.

"You're here," she whispered in wonder.

"I couldn't be anywhere else," he replied honestly, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Now that I've found you again, I'm not about to let go. Carla…"

Her hands reached out for him, effectively cutting off whatever he had been about to say. Probably a good thing, because he had no idea what it was going to be. The look she gave him made the iron control he'd held onto since arriving at the hospital crumble and he leaned down to capture her lips with his.

Morgan watched as Rossi and Carla Franks shared a long kiss that was so loving and tender that he felt distinctly uncomfortable watching. It was like he was intruding on something incredibly private, despite the semi-public setting.

"I see it," he said to Hotch, mostly for something to say and an excuse to take his eyes of the kissing couple. "The love. I see it, I do. But is it real? You know his reputation, what do you think?"

Hotch didn't reply immediately, instead watching the seemingly unlikely pair. Now they were just holding each other. Foreheads pressed together, hands on each other's faces, just staring into each other's eyes.

"It doesn't matter what I think, or anyone else for that matter," he said. "As long as _they_ think it's real, it will be." He turned away, gesturing Morgan to follow. "Come on, I saw a cafeteria back this way. I imagine they have a lot to talk about."

 _ **Love is the flower of life, and blossoms unexpectedly and without law, and must be plucked wherever it is found and enjoyed for the brief hour if its duration - D.H Lawrence**_


End file.
